Ganieda
by Juliana Brandagamba
Summary: [COMPLETE] Ganieda, Merlin's sister, has come to Camelot with him, where she gains the affections of the newly knighted Mordred - much to Merlin's great consternation. Meanwhile Camelot hurtles towards the beginning of the end, and loyalties, friendships, the very kingdom are unsteady. Set during the events of Series 5.
1. By Way of Introduction

_This story is the sequel to _Her Insatiable Thirst_. A brief summary of this story follows, but please do read the whole thing if you have the chance._

When I set off to the northern lands I had no idea quite what I would find. All that I knew was that I must go, for I had been called. It was no ordinary calling, and was one that I had to answer at any cost: for from a far-off place I could sense the presence of a dragon.

I had never felt the mind of a dragon before, but I knew intuitively what it must be: for it was a grand and immeasurable consciousness, though it had been stinted somewhat by some outside force; and the emotions that emanated from the being were too powerful to ignore. Sadness and misery and helplessness filled my mind, feelings poured in by this poor creature; I tried to address it, but it had no power of speech, save to tell me a name that it had heard somewhere. The sensation was irresistible, and I knew myself to be the only person who knew about it. And so I set off in the direction of the plea.

Me, Ganieda, the stepdaughter of a farmer, who had never ventured more than a few miles from my village! It would be a great and dangerous journey, and yet a sensation in my mind, the persuasion of a distant creature had forced me, willed me to set out into the unknown, and find it, and rescue it.

I came at great length to the Northern Plains, and there met the most terrific snowstorm: winter ravaged this place with a vengeance, covering everything with a block of white several feet deep in places, rendering the landscape perilous and nigh on impassable.

And yet I continued, and came at last to the fortress at Idirsholas, almost delirious with the effect of the cold, struggling, shivering. And I looked upon the fortress, and felt utterly hopeless: had my mission been for nothing.

It was a towering citadel, spiked, black, foreboding. It was like a sheet of ice in itself. I approached it, and there had to dodge a good many patrols before being detected by whoever it was who resided in the fortress; and I let them take me, for I could no longer move, such was the cold.

And I was brought then before none other than the High Priestess Morgana.

I knew little of Morgana save that she was a great and terrible sorceress, but I had believed her to be dead, for such was the rumour. Yet here she was, and I was her prisoner. Fighting against her would be useless.

She questioned me; I did not answer. And then she asked: 'Where is Emrys?'

The name was familiar to me: it was the name that the dragon had spoken. But I did not want to reveal that I knew about the dragon, for it was here and I wanted to save it without her knowledge. Morgana was adamant however to find out about this Emrys, who, I suspected, was the owner of the dragon, or a Dragonlord, or something akin to that. And thus I did not betray this man about whom I did not truly know; I preferred to die than to give up any morsel of information. I did not know the intentions of Morgana.

She tortured me; she brought me close to death, and I would happily have sunk into that abyss. Yet I did not, and instead came to myself deep below the citadel: and there I came by the dragon, whose name was Aithusa.

But in rescuing the dragon, or trying to, I discovered that the poor creature had been turned to Morgana's will, and so he betrayed me.

The next time I awoke I was back beneath the castle; but here I came by a creature known as the Diamair, who saved me and kept me safe from Morgana and her forces. After some time kept below the castle in this strange sanctuary I was saved by the men of Camelot, who had stormed the citadel in the hope of saving their own knights; and thus I was taken back with them, for I myself came from Albion and would have taken the same road.

Among these men was the servant of King Arthur, whose name was Merlin. He was a good-looking young lad, with a cheeky grin and unruly hair, but he hid beneath this bumbling exterior a good many great secrets. Firstly, that he had magic. Secondly, that he was a Dragonlord.

This second point was to me the more important: for I had been told that I myself was the daughter of a Dragonlord, who had fallen in love with my mother, but had to leave the village before I was born. His name was Balinor: and he was also the father of Merlin.

Merlin was younger than me: a couple of years, perhaps. His birth had come from a liaison between Balinor and Merlin's mother Hunith when Balinor had been driven out of Camelot not long after my own birth. Thus we were half-siblings.

I had grown up as an only child, and with no other children of a similar age, and so it was something of a surprise and a delight to meet Merlin, my half-brother. I would go back to Camelot with him; we would catch up on each other's doings; we would spend as much time together as possible. Such was our plan, and thus I came to Camelot with the King's men, and decided that I would stay there for a short while at the least.


	2. Arrival in Camelot

I had never been to Camelot, but I knew it to be quite the grandest and most beautiful of cities, perhaps the greatest in all the world. Or so it was said in tales and sung by bards; I had no reason to doubt the tales when I first beheld that city about which I had heard so much.

It was walled, and the walls surrounded a towering white citadel, pure and shining in its coloration; and the rays of the dying Sun caused part of the castle wall to glow orange - a burning, warm orange. Upon the many turrets of the castle were roofs of a rich, royal blue. I marvelled at the sight, so much so that I had to be called from my daydream. Never had I seen such majesty - and yet such, such... well, welcomeness: I can think of no other way in which to describe it. The city had a friendly and wonderful air, and because of that alone I was immensely happy.

'So this is Camelot,' I said in an undertone to Merlin - my brother, of course, who was riding in front of me and a pace behind the King of Camelot himself.

'Yes. Have you not been before?'

'I have never been near,' I replied. 'Tunyncel is a good way from the city, and I rarely strayed beyond the village.'

'I remember when I saw Camelot for the first time,' Merlin said. 'Actually, I thought it a little too busy and big. But I quickly came to love it.'

We drew nearer to the gates now, and the horses seemed to walk more quickly as we cleared the distance. A crowd of people had beaten us to the gates: traders, visitors, homecomers, all trying to get in before night fell. But when the people saw that Arthur was at the head of our party they soon parted, letting us through, watching us with awe in their eyes or bowing so that they did not turn their faces to us. I had never felt so important, so high up.

And thus we entered into the city, and therein I beheld my new home, for a short while at the least. At the end of the street up which we rode was the entrance to the castle itself: a series of steps at the end of the market square leading to an ever-open door that measured perhaps ten feet from ground to frame. The masonry around the doorframe was simple and yet grandiose, for it was crafted entirely out of the same white rock that composed the walls and turrets, and which seemed to match perfectly the regal status of the building.

We jumped from our horses in the wide quadrangle that lay in front of the steps; and many servants came scurrying out to attend to the horses. Merlin being a servant of the castle, he immediately went to Arthur to take his outer armour and see to his steed. I followed, dithering a little in this new place, unsure of what to do now and not really knowing anyone. Merlin beamed as I helped him take the armour from the horse's back; I expect that none had ever assisted him before.

'Thanks, Ganieda,' he said gratefully, leading the horse off to the stables. I went with him, looking around me as I went, taking in the extension of the royal residence.

When we had finished there we headed back up to the castle together; and quite a few people stared at me, for I was a newcomer. Being with Merlin probably helped, though, for they recognised him and greeted him cheerfully.

'I hope Arthur's finished with me,' said Merlin. 'You should probably meet Gaius.'

'Gaius?'

'The court physician. I live with him.'

'Ah, yes. You mentioned him, I think.'

And so we navigated the white-walled corridors, winding deeper into the bowels of the castle, until we came to a wooden door upon which was the legend: "Court Physician". I hesitated outside, wondering if this would be my home for the next - well, however long I came to stay here. I rather hoped I could remember the way from outside.

Just then Merlin opened the door, and we went inside. There at the table was an old man - though with a remarkably bright eye for a man of his age. He looked up at our entrance from an array of bottles and chemicals that were lined up on his desk. The row of glass naturally drew the eye to the rest of the room - a marvellous, ramshackle collection of oddments: more bottles, chemicals, potions, lined up on shelves, all labelled in a minuscule italic script; more books than I had seen in my life, heaped up on complaining bookcases and improvised planks of wood screwed to the walls; the tables supported more of both, as well as cauldrons, instruments I didn't recognise, even a brass globe showing a rather basic map of the known world; and hanging from the roof and the various rafters were herbs of all descriptions - dried and a little musty, or fresh and lending the room a wonderfully mysterious scent.

'Hullo, Gaius,' said Merlin cheerily.

Gaius was about to greet him when he noticed me. 'Who's this?'

'I'm Ganieda,' I said quickly.

'Apparently my half-sister,' Merlin added; and the expression on Gaius's face, already a little bemused, became so comical that we both burst out laughing.

* * *

Gaius was an excellent host: I soon found him to be friendly and kind with an unexpected sense of humour. He was not, however, a terribly good cook, which I could not bring myself to mention but which I got round by offering to make breakfast the following morning. Merlin grinned at me, out of sight of Gaius, when I said this; I guessed that he hadn't thought of that. No harm comes in making yourself helpful, I reflected.

The next day Merlin had to assist Arthur, being his manservant, and so he left early and straight after breakfast. He said as he was going that I should find someone to take me on a bit of a tour of the castle; I shook my head, as I did not know anyone, and said that I would find my own way round.

I soon found the castle to be something of a labyrinth. Corridors led in every direction, twisting and turning; sometimes wide, well-lit and a show of wealth, with tapestries and vaulted ceilings; sometimes barely narrow enough for two to walk abreast, and lit only with a sputtering torch. This contrast created something of an adventure even within the castle walls; I wondered if I would ever find time to explore the rest of the city.

When I had walked all that I could of the accessible parts of the castle, I returned along the corridor that ran past the Great Hall, peering in through a keyhole but finding it empty; I retreated, but just as I determined to walk away I bumped into somebody coming the other way.

'Sorry,' I said automatically; then I looked up and found it to be none other than Mordred.

There was a very uneasy silence. I felt my heart begin to race with apprehension; I could not divine his thoughts. Then he spoke, his voice trembling a little: he was just as nervous as I was.

'So your name is Ganieda,' he said a bit too brightly.

'Yes.'

'...I'm... I'm sorry for what happened. At Ismir... Morgana... I couldn't stop her...' As the apology unfurled his voice became more stammery, and his eyes turned to the floor, his cheeks reddening slightly - an impressive contrast, as they were remarkably pale.

I felt a sensation of anger rise up in me. Mordred had stood and watched me being tortured - he had refused to do the deed himself, but he had stood there, making no objection, making no move to stop Morgana, not even blinking. I had hated him almost as much as Morgana then, for his loyalty to her was through cowardice - yes, he was a coward, the trait I disliked the most in anyone.

'You do realise that I cannot forgive you?' I asked with rather more authority than I meant to show.

'So be it.'

The three words were spoken as if sentences, with a pause between each one as if he was stabbing the air with them. His cheeks paled again; his lips became thinner even than before, curling inwards. I saw something spark in his eyes; I guessed that I should probably leave.

Therefore I pushed past him and walked off down the corridor; I glanced back to see whether he too had gone, but found him to be still watching me, staring at me as I walked out of sight.


	3. Mordred Knighted

After this encounter with Mordred I headed down into the town, finding it to be market-day: the square that had been empty the day before was now packed with people, and gaily-coloured stalls surrounded me. The air was filled with chatter and bartering and the wonderful smell of meat and pies; it all seemed amazing to me, for I had seen nothing like it, being of a rural village.

I grinned and went forwards into the crowds, ambling from stall to stall, having no money at the present time but viewing what would be available to me should I come into any; I saw stalls covered with jewellery, browsed through the stock of a cloth-merchant, was immensely tempted by the meat pies at one stall; but I could buy nothing, and so left empty-handed by refreshed by the merry atmosphere of the market.

I came back to the castle and entered; then I saw Merlin, and called out to him, wondering why he was alone.

'Arthur's sent me to clean the stables,' Merlin said with a look of cheerful disgust. 'He's preparing for this evening.'

He did not stop; I walked with him then so that we could continue the conversation.

'What's happening this evening?' I asked.

'Oh – don't you know?' Merlin looked surprised. 'Mordred's being knighted. We're all invited. There's going to be a feast beforehand...'

I cut him off mid-sentence. '_What?_'

'A feast. With food and music and things –'

'No. No! Mordred! Being knighted!' I could not hold back my emotion, the sudden rush of anger that consumed me.

'I know. It's a bit annoying.' Merlin looked more than a bit annoyed. 'But he saved Arthur's life in Ismir – and betrayed Morgana – in fact, we all owe our lives to him. So I suppose this was the natural consequence.'

'But Mordred! He's not even on our side!'

Merlin ushered me into the stables and closed the door so that we could continue talking without being overheard. 'No. I know. Well, he is for now. He seems fine, but... Ganieda, I don't agree with it either, but I don't know what to do.'

'What do _you_ have against him?' I asked out of curiosity more than anything: the cutting tone with which my brother spoke was from something greater than disliking Mordred on principle.

Here Merlin lowered his voice, leaning in closer to me. 'I saw a vision,' he explained. 'A scene... It was a battle. I saw Mordred – Arthur – I saw Mordred kill Arthur.' His eyes suddenly sparkled with tears. 'I don't know whether I'm just being silly, or... But it was a druid showed it to me, Ganieda, and... It felt real... True, I mean. I think it was a vision of the future. You don't think I'm silly, do you?'

I had drawn in a sharp gasp at his first sentence and now I let it out, my mind clouded with thoughts. 'Mordred killing _Arthur_? So he's a traitor?'

'I don't know!' cried Merlin in angst. 'I don't know what to believe. Mordred is fine – for now. And Arthur won't hear a word against him.'

My head span. 'Well, we should stop the vision coming true. Shouldn't we?'

'That's what I thought, too,' Merlin said. 'But –'

It was at that moment that the door opened and a head poked in. 'The stables don't look much cleaner, Merlin,' said the slightly cheeky voice of Gwaine, joking with his friend.

Merlin did not brighten. 'Sorry.'

'No, it's fine.' Gwaine looked confused. 'I just heard you chatting up a girl in the stable and I couldn't help interfering.' He smiled wryly. 'I'll leave you to it.'

Gwaine went, but our thread of conversation was lost. Merlin sighed. 'I should be working. Sorry, Ganieda. I'll talk to you later.'

I nodded and left.

* * *

There was indeed a feast that evening. I managed to borrow a dress from none other than Arthur's beautiful wife herself, Queen Guinevere, for she had heard my story and took pity on me having no belongings in Camelot. Thus was I somewhat envied by the other people at the feast, which I didn't find a bad thing.

It was a grand banquet, with tables set up in the centre of one of the halls to seat perhaps a hundred guests. Servants came and went behind us, bringing drinks and nibbles, filling jugs and glasses, attending to all of the diners – and Merlin was among them, which I could not help but find slightly amusing as he waited on me with a mock-grimace on his face.

As we ate we were entertained by the virtuoso musicianship of the castle's Court Musician, who sat to one side of the table, directly behind me. I was surprised to find that this prestigious post was held by a girl not much older than me, who barely registered the people as her fingers flew over first the lyre, then a tall harp, then the flute, playing attractive and likeable melodies, the likes of which I had seldom heard before.

I found myself feeling entirely at home, made joyful by the music, satisfied by the food, slightly merry (admittedly) by the wine – but I happened to glance every so often at the head table and a pang of some dark emotion would pierce my heart as I looked upon the face of Mordred.

The young man sat in a position of honour beside Arthur, talking when spoken to, and cheerfully enough; his thin face was half lit up, but retained some of the pallor that always seemed to reside in him. Nevertheless, he too looked at home, and I did not know what to feel.

The King and Queen were resplendent in their best dress, their crowns glinting atop their heads; and the nobles of Camelot and the knights occupied the next seats, the ranks descending as the tables spread outwards, with the ordinary folks like me and Gaius finding ourselves near to the doors. But I did not mind this arrangement at all, since that being at the feast was all that mattered. But even if I was glad to be there, the meaning for the banquet did not please me at all.

* * *

After the banquet came the ceremony I had been dreading: Mordred's knighting. We all gathered in the hall: knights at the front, a sea of scarlet robes; castle-folk and townspeople behind, all silent and somewhat reverent; and King Arthur and Queen Guinevere were at the very front, presiding over the hall, their keen gazes looking over everyone before resting on Mordred.

The young man had his back to us but I could see in my mind the half-smile which he must surely have been wearing: that thin-lipped suggestion of happiness that never reached his eyes. I found myself scowling and had to hide this, for every so often Gaius, who was standing beside me, would glance in my direction; he did not know of my hatred for Mordred, but I wondered if he had guessed.

And the King took up his sword and tapped Mordred's shoulders, first his left, then his right, and pronounced: 'Arise, Sir Mordred, Knight of Camelot.'

He stood and turned, and I was surprised to see a true smile on his face. He was handsome in his joy; I cursed myself for thinking this, but I could not help it. The applause that rang out was tumultuous, though none cheered, for few knew him personally. I knew however that the story of how he had saved Arthur would spread quickly, and win him great popularity in the town. Soon Merlin and I would be unique in our dislike of the man; I grimaced at this thought.

And thus was the evening's ceremony over. We filed from the hall, and I looked for Merlin, but my brother was still in Arthur's service for a few minutes more at least. So I went back to the Court Physician's quarters, ambling a little, thinking over what I had seen.

It pained me to admit that Mordred seemed truly rooted on our side. He was a Knight of Camelot! and he did not seem to rue that, either, for he seemed to admire the King and all that Albion stood for. For now at least.

And I walked heavily into the quarters, stopping before the table, my head bowed, deep in thought. I knew that I could never forgive Mordred, but disliking him actively or even noticeably would surely be an unwise move. What could I do? Would I have to keep this hatred deep in my heart, to prick me every time I looked upon Mordred, but never to emerge?


	4. The Court Musician

I had a nightmare that night, not the first since Ismir but certainly the clearest; I saw Mordred's face, blurred as it had been through my eyes as I cried out in pain; I felt nothing in the dream but the indescribable terror of Morgana's torture came back to me... Then Arthur was there, striding confidently back to Camelot, which was golden; but it dimmed to grey as the Sun went in, and a cold wind howled through the treetops; and Mordred was there again, a sword in his hand, about to stab Arthur in the back... My dream-self yelled out and tried to run towards him, to save him, but it was too late, there was a flash like lightning and Arthur was falling...

And then Merlin's arms were round me, and I had woken up.

'Ganieda...' he whispered.

I was breathing in shuddering gasps; I could barely make out his face, for still the visions passed before my eyes.

'Ganieda, it's all right. I think you were dreaming...'

Suddenly, without warning, tears broke forth from my eyes and I sobbed into my brother's shoulder, shaking as if I had a fever, unable to forget the nightmare, my mind whirling, wondering if perhaps I had gone mad because of it.

* * *

In the morning Merlin asked me carefully what the dream had been about; but I lied, I told him I could not remember, but suspected that it was something to do with what had happened at Ismir. Merlin gave me a look that was filled with the most intense sympathy – but even he did not comprehend what Morgana's torture and Mordred's two-facedness had done to me. I did not tell him, trying to clear all memory of both from my mind.

We were walking to Arthur's chambers together when Merlin asked me whether I was going to get a job whilst in Camelot. I started at this, and inquired as to whether that was a requirement of me.

'No, of course not,' said Merlin smiling, 'but, you know, money comes in useful sometimes.' He did not give any other reasons, but I knew what he wanted to say: I myself had thought of it. I couldn't really exploit Gaius as a host without being able to give him something back, or at least manage under my own steam. Merlin was of course employed, and brought in money to the little household, but now that there were three of us we might need a bit more support.

'Well, I don't know how long I'm staying,' I began lamely: lamely, because I had already sent off a letter to my stepmother saying that I might stay a while, even permanently, with by half-brother.

Merlin ignored my excuse. 'What d'you fancy doing?'

I shrugged.

'Well, what are you good at?'

I shrugged again, my eyes widening slightly. 'Farming... That's about it. I was going to inherit the farm.'

Merlin looked rather perplexed. 'But there must be something. Are you musical? You could see if Juliana would take you on... or... there's Geoffrey in the Hall of Records; he might want an apprentice.'

'I can't read,' I said in a very small voice. 'Not very well.'

Merlin looked surprised but said nothing to this. 'Or you could be a servant,' he finished, just as we came to the door of Arthur's room. 'Well, have a think about it. I'll see you this afternoon.'

I really didn't fancy being a servant, of course, but that was what most people of my standing ended up as in the castle, as far as I could see. I could hardly read, so the Hall of Records was out of the question. But music... I was no virtuoso, and definitely nothing to match Juliana, if she was the girl I'd seen last night, but I could pluck out a few things on a lyre and I'd spent a lot of my childhood playing a little wooden flute my stepfather had made me. Therefore I resolved to find Juliana's quarters and see if she could teach me enough to let me be by her side.

* * *

I spent quite a long time winding my way along the corridors before deciding that asking for directions would be a good plan, and in this way finding that Juliana in fact lived quite near to Gaius's quarters. So I came to the door and knocked; a moment later a curiously accented voice called, 'Come in.'

I went in, and found myself in a reasonably-sized room, airy, cool, with a fairly large window lending a good deal of light to the place. A bed was in the middle, and by the window there was a desk, upon which were several sheets of paper and an inkwell with an enormous quill beside it. The centrepiece of the room was a beautiful harp, and at the harp sat the girl I had seen. She looked up at my entrance, her eyes twinkling.

'Ah, you must be Ganieda.'

I nodded, wondering where her accent was from but hardly daring to ask.

'I'm Juliana.'

I acknowledged this with a nod. An awkward silence followed; she did not know why I was there and I had not told her.

'Well?'

'I... Merlin told me to come and find you. He said I needed a job whilst I'm in Camelot, and, well, I'm not much good at anything much, so...'

'But you fancy yourself as a musician, yes?' Her eyes sparkled and I at once warmed to her. 'It is not an easy job, I must tell you.'

'I hoped to learn first,' I replied.

'Good. Then I shall teach you. Have you time now?' I nodded. 'Sit down then, sit down! I shall teach you the harp. The harp is popular. Everyone likes a harpist. Now, firstly...'

And thus I took my first lesson in music, which, like most first lessons in music, didn't go all that well; but at the same time I managed forget, for the moment at least, Morgana and the horrors I had suffered at her hand, and the hatred I felt for her servant Mordred.

* * *

Juliana and I quickly became friends, and this helped my learning immensely, though I did begin to fear that music would always for me be merely a hobby. I enjoyed my lessons, however, which were interspersed with diverse conversation – about our friends, our passions, gossip from Camelot (of which Juliana seemed to know a great deal for one so independent from the other citizens).

It was not long before the subject matter came to the knights – and Mordred in particular. I had happened to mention the banquet that had taken place and asked about the piece she was playing; she said that she had made it up herself, and that it was dedicated to Mordred.

'Do you like Mordred then?' I asked, trying to hide what I thought.

'I don't really know him,' she admitted. 'But everyone says he's nice enough – and a lot of the ladies think he's handsome...' She laughed. 'But I shouldn't talk about someone I've never met.' She paused, and her eyes flashed towards mine, discerning something in my face. 'Why? Don't you like him?'

I shrugged, not committing myself to an answer. 'I – he was Morgana's servant before, and... well, I just don't feel as if I can trust him. I don't dislike him,' I lied quickly, 'but...'

'Ah, but of course, you were taken by Morgana and you would not trust those who worked for her,' Juliana said, summing up what I thought. 'That is understandable.'

'I hope so,' I replied. 'I fear I'm in the minority. And anyway, my... my mistrust isn't even justified, because Mordred has done nothing to me.' _Except mentally_, I found myself thinking.

'No,' replied Juliana. 'Not really. Well, it doesn't matter, at any rate. Not to music.' Juliana thought of music above all else, and it seemed to me that if something didn't matter to music it didn't matter at all. Such was the mind of this young musician. 'Anyway – might you sing? I have not heard your voice yet. Sing something for me!'


	5. The Madness Prevails

Merlin seemed subdued that evening; he was sullen over dinner, and went straight to his room afterwards, announcing that he would spend a while reading. I knew better than to assume that his work had worn him out that day, and so went to him, asking him what the matter was.

'Mordred's the matter,' he said under his breath.

'What is it?' I asked, equally quietly.

'Nothing really... it's just when I see him with Arthur and they're friendly to each other and I just know that it's all pretence and Mordred is Arthur's killer...' His voice cracked. I knew how much Arthur meant to him; I felt I understood exactly what he was talking about.

'But what can we do?' I said this more in despair than in resignation.

'Nothing.' Merlin brought his fist down on the table. 'That's the worst thing. We can't do _anything_. It's going to happen. Arthur...'

And then he was crying, his face more miserable than I had ever dreamt it could be. I put my arm around his shoulders and pulled him to me, but said nothing, for there were no words left.

* * *

I had another nightmare that night, one that pushed me to the very edge of sanity. In that moment, hovering, wondering if I should let madness claim me, an idea came to me, an idea that would have repulsed me before, but now, in such a state...

Yes. Yes! That was the way, the way to make Merlin happy again and to heal me from the intangible wound that was poisoning my mind. There was only one way to stop the path of destiny.

I had to kill Mordred.

* * *

I was not in my right mind, and that would be my excuse when I was thinking straight again. I crept down the corridor, clutching a phial in my increasingly sweaty hand, edging silently along; every so often I would start at a noise, only to find that it was my own heartbeat. At length I came to Mordred's room and stood wavering at the door; then I made up my mind and entered silently, pacing across the floorboards in bare feet, staying in the shadows though I could barely see anything in the light.

Mordred was sleeping; he was turned away from me, and did not stir. I saw his bedside table in a ray of moonlight, and upon it was a water-jug.

I uncorked the phial, and in one movement I upended it over the water, watching as the colourless mixture splashed on the surface and then seemed to vanish.

Then I turned and ran from the room, tossing the phial out of the nearest window as I went. It was done. There was no going back.

* * *

My hands were shaking as I ate breakfast, almost too much for me to raise the spoon to my mouth. Gaius noticed this and queried it; but I said that I had had a nightmare again, and Merlin squeezed my other hand sympathetically. Neither questioned me further.

But then we were interrupted by a knock on the door; King Arthur himself walked in without waiting for an invitation. 'Gaius,' he said, 'you have to come. It's Sir Mordred...'

He started; then he set down his spoon and picked up a little bag of essential supplies before following the King.

I did not look Merlin in the eye, for I was afraid that he would at once guess what had happened. Fear struck me, a cold fear that I hardly recognised: the fear of being found out, the fear of being uncovered for what I was – a murderess.

Not long later the King and Gaius returned, and between them they were carrying the limp form of Mordred; they placed him on the bed in the centre of the room.

'What's happened?' I asked, a little too quickly. The words trembled on my lips: I knew perfectly well what had happened.

'Mordred was found unconscious in his chambers.' Gaius's speech was curt, for his attention was almost entirely devoted to his patient. 'I believe he has been poisoned.'

For a moment Merlin's eyes met mine. I looked away, feeling as if I might be sick. 'Poisoned? By whom?'

Now Gaius was searching through his potions for an antidote, his eyes rather frantic. 'I don't know. But it would appear that something was put in his water-jug.'

I glanced at Mordred. His blank, pale face gave him the appearance of already being dead. I felt the blood drain from my face; the realisation of what I had done struck me like a hammer-blow. I had killed a man in cold blood.

'I hope... I hope he is all right.' I stood, swaying a little; then, unable to look anyone in the eye, I went up to the bedroom and shut the door.

* * *

He did not die. I should have known that he wouldn't – that Gaius's skill was unrivalled, that the physician could cure almost anything. Mordred awoke but an hour later, still weak but very much alive, when Gaius had administered an antidote.

And I heard the King return then; he cried out in delight and spoke to Mordred in greatly relieved tones. And then he said:

'If ever I find out who did this, he will be severely punished.'

_Or she..._ My head span. Would I be found out? Was my excuse sufficient? How could I get out of this? What had I done?

* * *

Later that day, after Mordred had been discharged, Gaius came up to the quarters looking grim. I paled; he held a familiar-looking phial – the one I had thrown out of the window – in his hand.

'I have just found this in the herb-garden.' Gaius addressed both me and Merlin. 'It's one of mine. And it contained the poison that nearly killed Sir Mordred.'

There was a very long pause. At last Gaius's stare settled on Merlin.

'Merlin, if you...'

I cut across him. 'It wasn't Merlin. It was me.'

They both stared at me. I reddened immensely and said nothing. What did it matter now? I hadn't succeeded... but I had tried. I had attempted to murder a knight of the Round Table.

All of a sudden the guilt and fear and regret I felt – for I did regret it; Mordred did not deserve, had never deserved to die – welled up in me and I burst into tears.

Merlin threw his arms around me at once, pressing me to him. 'It's all right. I completely understand.' And then, in a whisper only I could hear: 'I can't say I wouldn't have done the same.'

* * *

Gaius took the water-jug for examination and, as the search for Mordred's murderer threatened to envelop the whole of Camelot, he announced – he lied! – to the King that the water had been contaminated and that it had therefore been an accident. I could not believe my ears; I very nearly confessed – but I kept silent, and so did Merlin, and I could not thank them enough. At the same time, I knew that I would do exactly the same for them should the occasion arise. And thus did I pretty much get away with murder.


	6. Can You Like Me?

Mordred was perfectly fine after the incident, and though he was weak for a couple of days, he acted as if nothing had happened. He did not seem suspicious about Gaius's explanation for his near-death experience; he merely shrugged it off and refused to have a water-jug by his bed in future.

Merlin, Gaius and I also did not discuss the incident. But for some reason, after it my nightmares and my fits of near-insanity seemed to reduce, though I did not quite know why. I saw Mordred in a new light – perhaps because actually seeing him almost dead, which I had thought I wanted, had shocked me so badly that I realised that I could put up with him after all.

But still Merlin spent a good deal of his time silently pondering the vision he had seen, and I knew that the image of Mordred killing Arthur would never leave him. I could not bear to see my brother so upset; yet nor could I tell him that my hatred for Mordred had lessened, lest he spurn me for that. So I kept up the pretence, just for him.

Coming back to Gaius's quarters one evening, however, I found a little roll of paper on my bed, with a snowdrop – one of the first – upon it. I picked up the paper and scrutinised it; I could recognise my own name at least, and knew that to be the addressee; but I could not read any more of what was evidently a letter, and so, rather embarrassed, I had to take it to Merlin to ask if he might read it to me.

Merlin took the letter from me; I did not tell him about the flower, which I had hidden for the moment until I knew its meaning. He unfolded the paper; he skimmed down it, and his eyes widened. 'Good Lord, Ganieda!'

'What?' I cried, craning my neck over his shoulder even though that would not help.

He sat down with a bump on his own bed, his forehead creased, and read thus:

_Ganieda, perhaps you do not accept my apology, but it is true, it is more than true, and you must believe me. I am afraid of Morgana, I have always been afraid of Morgana, and I wish more than ever that I could have stopped her but I could not. Call me a coward if you like. It can change nothing now._

_But, Ganieda – Ganieda, it pained me more than anything to see your face when Morgana – I had to hide all emotion I felt, that is why I perhaps appeared blank to you, unemotional, uncaring maybe. Because I liked you, Ganieda – I knew when I saw you that I liked you, because you are pretty and because your face has known many smiles, and because you were brave enough to defy Morgana, which is incredibly admirable._

_Can you like me, Ganieda? Can you? We do not have to be friends, but I do not like to see the hatred in your face, to see the fear that darts across your eyes when they meet mine. I am on your side. We do not have to hate each other –but I have never hated you, not ever, so why can you not return that favour, and, like the snowdrop, rise out of the ice that seems to cover your heart?_

_Mordred_

And I felt my vision blur a moment, my head spin. I did not want to accept that I was in the wrong – that – no, I did not know what to think. Merlin did not speak; he merely let the words of the letter hang in the air, and I did not feel any better for having heard them.

But I did not, could not hate him. I dislike cowardice – with a passion – but I dislike hatred far more. It pained me to have the heart covered in ice that I now realised Mordred had spotted; I felt my cheeks grow red and a wave of shame come over me.

'What is it, Ganieda?' asked Merlin at length.

I looked up quickly, finding that I had lost myself in my thoughts.

'Nothing,' I said. 'It is a silly letter. I can't like Mordred. He's a coward, a traitor, he might kill Arthur –'

And Merlin was satisfied, and left me; and when he was safely out of sight I brought out the snowdrop and pondered it.

* * *

My first performance with Juliana came but a week later, as Arthur was holding a banquet to welcome an allied king or someone on a visit to Camelot. Juliana would, of course, play most of the music, and she demonstrated to me a brilliant selection of popular pieces and her own compositions that she would play; but I also would duet with her in a few, easier, pieces.

I felt immensely nervous as I sat by the harp, ready to accompany Juliana's singing. A few of the diners at the rowdy table glanced over at me and I had to avert my eyes. Then she nodded at me, and I began to pluck the strings, and Juliana began to sing.

The people of Camelot all praise Juliana's singing greatly, for it is pure and beautiful, lilting lyrically and filling the hall despite the chatter at the table. But this time I was the centre of attention. Even the King glanced towards us once or twice, his eyes smiling and reassuring; Merlin too smiled at me, a little cheekily: it was, after all, he who had reminded me that there is no greater torture than playing in front of everyone. And I could well believe that.

But the one person who watched me and kept his eyes on me throughout almost the entire piece was Mordred.

My eyes never met his, for every time I glanced towards him he blinked and pretended to be fascinated by his dinner. Yet I knew that he stared at me when I was not looking, for I could feel his burning gaze on me, penetrating me.

I was bright scarlet when the piece had finished, and ran to Merlin's side in the midst of the applause, unable to face it. He whispered compliments to me and I had to smile, but my mind was still on Mordred. In my mind's eye I could see that stare – the stare I had not seen, but which I knew to be steady and a little terrifying; I could see his bright blue eyes, his most striking feature, seeming naïve but hiding so much.

And when the feast was finished I went back to Juliana to help her take the instruments back to her room, but I sensed someone coming towards us, and saw Mordred in the corner of my eye.

'Ganieda, you were excellent.'

His voice was somewhat stammery, I noticed. Scared, almost.

I looked straight at him in astonishment, and whispered an automatic "thank you".

'I imagine the harp is not easy to play.'

'No,' I murmured, watching him, wondering what his intentions were. It did not occur to me that he might be perfectly capable of natural compliments.

This conversation dried up as I looked away from him, unable to meet his gaze; Mordred chatted briefly but much more confidently with Juliana, who was a good acquaintance of his, if not a friend. Then he left the hall.

'I thought you didn't like Mordred?'

Juliana turned to me, smiling.

'I don't,' I said gruffly.

'Well, he likes you,' she replied with a twinkle in her eye, and left me to dwell on this ambiguous statement.


	7. The Judgment of the Disir

When Merlin goes on a patrol I always find myself worrying for him far more than is sensible. Albion was then an unstable kingdom, far from the Golden Age that had been so glorious, that I had heard about so many times. This Age seemed almost mythical now; I could hardly believe that there had been a time but months ago when the throne had been secure, the rulers peaceful, the people happy and safe, the outlying territory free from threat. Now, however, security was threatened by a single man on the borders; for some reason this required a good number of knights to sort out.

I watched them go from the window of Juliana's room, for she was busy tuning the harp so that I could play it. A sea of red cloaks fluttered in the courtyard: nine or ten knights were mounting their horses, and Merlin was helping Arthur onto his. I was surprised to see Mordred among the more illustrious and long-serving men in this company; I recalled what Merlin had told me a few days ago about Arthur greatly praising Mordred's ability as a knight. Merlin had been scathing, jealous perhaps; I had tried to hide the fact that I no longer wanted to speak against the poor man.

'I hope they all return safely,' Juliana murmured; she had evidently been thinking on the matter herself. This was curious: she was not often concerned with things other than music.

'They are going against a man with powerful magic...' This patrol had resulted from an incident not long earlier in which a knight – Sir Ranulf, I thought his name was – had been killed by this man who was now sought.

'Camelot will succeed,' said Juliana, smiling vaguely. She was always far too confident in our side's abilities to win at any battle. 'Listen to this. I composed a new song yesterday; I thought you might like to learn it...'

* * *

The patrol galloped back into Camelot with the pounding eagerness that always betrayed success. I ran down to greet Merlin; he smiled vaguely, not quite meeting my eyes, and glanced at Mordred when he thought I wasn't looking.

I helped Merlin once again with Arthur's things, by now carrying out the task without really thinking. But Merlin did not talk to me as he usually did, instead remaining deep in thought. I knew not to disturb him whilst he was in such a mood, and let him go off after Arthur when he was finished without asking him what he was doing.

I walked more slowly up to the steps of the castle, suddenly finding myself hugely curious as to what might have happened. I turned to see if one of my friends among the knights was there to ask; I swallowed when I saw that the last man left in the market-square was Mordred. Quickly I made to turn away and go back inside, but his eyes met mine and a mysterious smile came to his face before he called out, 'Hullo, Ganieda,' in normal and friendly tones.

Despite myself I called out 'Hullo,' back. He handed the reins of his horse to a servant and paced over to me before I could escape.

'What's wrong with Merlin?' he asked casually.

'I was hoping you might be able to tell me,' I said quietly, making my way back into the castle. He dogged my footsteps, falling silent for an awkward few moments before I changed the subject: 'How was the patrol?' I didn't want the answer from Mordred, but there was nobody else to ask and I wanted to know.

He furrowed his brow. 'We caught up with that man Osgar and Gwaine dealt him a mortal blow. Osgar said something about passing judgment on Arthur; I think he gave some sort of coin or amulet to Arthur. You would have to ask him about it.' He looked a little worried. 'Anyway, we all survived, thank heavens. Gwaine was wounded, but it was fine. Your brother healed him.'

I nodded, wondering whether it had been Merlin's physician skills (which were now really rather good) or just a simple spell that had healed Gwaine. 'Anyway,' I said as we came to the branch in the corridor that separated Gaius's quarters from those of the knights, 'goodbye, Mordred.'

'See you later.'

He smiled at me – a true smile, the handsome smile that I had seen so much now that Mordred was settled in Camelot. Then he set off to his own rooms, and I went to mine, thinking on this smile: a smile I liked, one that revealed how happy he was in Camelot – because he was, he loved the city, he had made friends here (I wondered if he had ever had friends before in his lonely existence as the servant of Morgana), he was at home and comfortable. I wanted to like him – but still I mistrusted him and feared him because of the influence of Merlin.

The influence of my damned mistaken brother! Why did I listen to him?...

* * *

The trinket that had been given to Arthur turned out to be rather more important even than anyone had at first thought. Gaius called it a Runemark, and it was a token of the Disir: by this he meant that Arthur's life lay on a die, and a bad roll would prove fatal should the gods decree it. I do not truly understand the matter; but I knew that something had transpired between the man Osgar and our king that meant that something could go horribly and catastrophically wrong if Arthur made a false move: he was being judged, and he must voyage to receive that judgment, risking his life for a chance encounter and a coin. My head whirled when Merlin explained this to me; I wanted to help, but saw no way of doing so; I wondered what would happen; I did not quite comprehend the magnitude of the matter – I understood then more than ever why Juliana let herself be captivated so by music, and did not involve herself in the strange and terrifying goings-on in the real world.

The upshot of it all was that Arthur had to leave again but days later to face this judgment; he selected his bravest knights to go with him – Gwaine, Percival and the usual crowd, but also Mordred once again; and Merlin would as ever be at his side. I wanted to go, for some reason, disliking having to stay in Camelot when so many lives were at stake, when my own brother was in danger; but I could not go, and instead found myself finding solace in playing music, comprehending now the bizarre character of my friend Juliana.

* * *

They did not return eagerly this time, but they still galloped, bringing bad tidings through the gate and up the main street. Once again I hurried down to the courtyard before the castle, and was overwhelmingly relieved when I saw Merlin, unharmed, upon his horse; I ran to him and embraced him wordlessly as he jumped to the ground; but then I saw what was occupying the other men: the limp form of Mordred.

I had now seen him dying twice, and this second time made my stomach lurch. His face was sickening, pale and sweaty; his hand hung motionlessly from his body, over the stretcher that was brought for him from the castle. As I watched the knights carry him inside I felt ill; I asked Merlin in a shaky voice what had happened.

'We approached the Disir to ask about Arthur's judgment, and they said that he should embrace the Old Religion.' Merlin spoke in a low voice, leading me towards the stables as he talked. 'But Arthur refused, of course, and the Disir attacked us. Mordred was wounded, perhaps mortally.'

'Mortally!' I echoed, unable to restrain the gasp that leapt up my throat.

'And now Arthur wants to go back and bargain for Mordred's life.' Merlin shouldered the armour that he had been taking from Arthur's horse and groaned. 'I can't let him! If we are to stop the vision coming true... we must let Mordred die.'

'Merlin, that's horrible!' I could not help but cry.

He looked at me strangely. 'If Arthur is to live, Mordred must die. It's simple. And it must happen.'

'Must it?'

'What does it matter to you?'

'Nothing...' I lied; but horrified by Merlin's attitude towards poor Mordred's situation, I made some excuse and hurried from the stable, wavering between going to see if Mordred could be healed and going to lose myself in music.

I decided on the former, and entered Gaius's quarters to find the physician and the king standing over the patient's bed, on which Mordred lay unmoving; I feared the worst for a horrid second as I came in, but saw that Gaius's face was grimly hopeful and the King's determined.

'I shall set out tomorrow,' Arthur said. 'And please, Gaius, do anything you can for him, won't you? He saved my life – he saved my life for a second time – I can't let him die.'

He swung from the room, briefly greeting me before disappearing into the corridor beyond. I closed the door, and then asked Gaius, 'Can you not heal him?'

Gaius sighed. 'If only I could. But it is a magical wound. I fear that the only person who can heal him is Merlin.'

'Merlin!' I said. 'But he will do nothing for Mordred. They are bitter enemies.'

'I know...' murmured Gaius, his face wrought. I went and took his hand in mine, trying to be reassuring, but he as well as I knew that we could at this point be assured of nothing. If Merlin did not agree to his task – Mordred would die.

And since that Merlin would never agree to it –

I looked down at the Mordred's prone form, his eyes closed lightly but moving a little beneath their lids, his mouth grim and set, his skin pale and clammy; he was on the edge, and it wouldn't be long before he fell –


	8. A Roll of the Die

Merlin and Arthur set out not long afterwards to reason with the Disir. Following Merlin's narration of the terrifying incident that had led to Mordred's almost-murder, I wondered if it was possible to reason with such terrible and inhuman creatures, but Merlin assured me that Arthur would find a way, and if not Arthur, him.

'But you won't, will you?' I asked in a low voice. 'You won't do anything to prevent Mordred's death. If he ends up dying, what does it matter to you?'

'I could do nothing, and he might die.' Merlin shrugged indifferently. 'But it would be better for me to do something and ensure that he does.'

And he left the room before I could slap him round the face, which was exactly what I wanted to do at that moment. I had never imagined that my own brother could be so heartless. I had liked that he was a mirror of me; we had been like twins; but now...

* * *

The day was a tense one, and passed slowly; I spent some of it in Gaius's quarters, watching as the physician tended to Mordred, unable to cure him but doing everything to make sure that he didn't slip into the abyss; I ran errands for him for a short while, having nothing else to do; at length I found the situation unbearable and went to find Juliana, with whom I played duets and forgot about all else, but afterwards I felt hugely guilty that I had neglected that a man was dying just along the corridor, and that his life lay in the treacherous hands of my own brother. I voiced as much to Juliana, for I could trust her with matters such as these, as she was trustworthy, and if you told her a secret she would most likely forget it anyway. She just smiled, perhaps knowingly, and said that I didn't have to have a lesson today if I wanted to go back and see how Mordred was.

And I sat in the room, waiting, watching, wondering what Merlin and Arthur were doing and if they had managed to reason with the Disir or whether Mordred was doomed to die at their hand...

* * *

Gaius had gone for more water, and Merlin was yet absent, when Mordred awoke suddenly; I started and turned to him, and he looked up at me with slightly uncomprehending eyes.

'I'm alive...' he murmured.

I did not know quite what to say to this. If he was alive, then... And alone in the same room as the man who pulled my heart in a thousand directions I felt awkward and shy and wanted nothing more than for Gaius to return. But within the next few breathless moments he did not, and then Mordred was nodding towards the nearly-empty water-jug on the table, asking me to bring him a drink.

I did so, handing it to him with shaking hands.

'Do you still fear me, Ganieda?'

It was not an angry question, it was a pitiful one, a sad one. His eyes met mine, and I saw that they were pleading.

He sipped the water to clear his throat, and then tried to sit up. 'I completely understand why you would – but you can't be Merlin's shadow all your life. I'm not at all like you think I am. At least, I hope not. Why, then, is there still this gulf betwixt us?'

I said nothing, and he fell silent, his head sinking back into the pillow. Though his face pointed towards the ceiling his eyes were still on me.

_We're more similar than you think, Ganieda._

The voice in my mind startled me and I nearly dropped the jug that I was setting back on the table. I stared at him, for I knew it was he who had addressed me in such a way, without me even sensing the mental contact. I was about to reply out loud, not wanting to use such an unnatural method of communication, when Gaius came back in with a fresh jug of water, and seeing Mordred awake spoke to him at once, asking how he was. I took this opportunity to slip away; and though I tried to forget the incident, his voice yet echoed in my head.

_We're more similar than you think..._

* * *

I did not mention to Mordred that it was the actions of Merlin and Arthur that had determined if he lived or died. I did not mention that my brother was hoping for his death. Mordred emerged from the castle at the same moment that the king and his servant returned, and Arthur, seeing Mordred alive and well, ran to him, embracing him in a bear-hug, a look of astonishment, almost shock on his face.

'Thank God!' he cried. 'Mordred, thank God!'

He let go and gave Mordred a rather-too-hefty thump on the shoulder, before leading him inside, chattering all the while, leaving Merlin as usual to sort out the horses. I did not go to Merlin; I did not want to speak to him whilst his face betrayed something akin to despair, and whilst his mouth was set so grimly. Instead I followed Mordred inside, knowing that he would go back to Gaius's quarters briefly to consult with the physician on his condition, and to ask if he could be discharged fully from his care. I dogged his footsteps without being seen; and at Gaius's rooms he stopped, his hand on the door-handle, and, without turning, he said mentally:

_Merlin wanted me to die._

And then he swung round, his eyes pained, staring at me as if willing me to speak; but I could not respond to this, a sad and heartfelt plea that I dearly wanted to answer, but couldn't, because of Merlin's influence over me.

_You didn't..._

Our eyes met. The slightest of smiles came onto his face then, and he made to push the door open but paused a moment more.

_Truly, Merlin does not matter to me. It is what you think that I care about._

And he went into the quarters; and I did not dare to follow him, instead hiding in an alcove further down the corridor until he passed me and disappeared out of sight.

* * *

He liked me, I knew that much. He wanted to be friends, he was normal, he wasn't the monster Merlin believed that he was. And I liked him, because he was kind and unusually gentle for a knight, and because he liked me. What had happened at Ismir was behind us: he recognised that, he admired me for trying to let the business drop: I had forgiven him, and now he was prepared to repay that through a friendship that I dearly wanted to cultivate.

I would apologise, first of all, for the fear and mistrust that I had felt for him, for my harsh actions when he had wanted to be kind to me. I knew that he too had suffered at Morgana's hand, and did not want to be reminded of his time at Ismir, nor of the act of cowardice, the single act that had forged this barrier between us. Then I would continue in the normal way to create a friendship that I knew could exist. Mordred and I would be friends despite everything, and then we would both be truly happy.

* * *

'The Disir offered Arthur a choice. He could accept the Old Religion and all would be well; he could continue to fight it, and all would be doom. I advised him; I lied, I told him that he should reject magic on the grounds of the dangers it posed, because I believed that to be the only way to be rid of Mordred.'

Merlin's voice was soft and controlled but a restrained anger balled his fists, diverted his gaze from me to the orange of the setting sun outside. I did not react even though every muscle in me screamed at me to strike him, to shout at him, to stop him from hating Mordred somehow.

'Arthur said that he would not, could not accept the Old Religion... even distantly, I could feel victory over the forces of destiny itself on the horizon. Arthur would be safe... I had prevented the vision from coming true.'

Merlin paused in this, his terrible narration of the events of his journey. Emotion clouded his eyes for a moment, and he could not speak for several.

'Then we came back to Camelot, and found Mordred to be alive.'

He span round; he spread his hands in helpless despair. 'Don't you see? By refusing to accept magic, he has brought about his own doom.'

Of course I saw. I understood perfectly. Yet I could not speak in agreement, because I wished then more than ever that Mordred's fate was not so definite, that he could have a normal life without such forces outside of his control acting against him, deciding upon his treason even whilst he was still fiercely loyal to Camelot. I could not believe that such a man could commit such an act... It did not fit, something terrible would have to happen... And I could not speak against Mordred, because I liked him, I really and truly liked him. Indeed, I liked him more, at that moment, than my own brother.


	9. A Momentous Conversation

I wondered sometimes why I never dared to ask Juliana why she was so reserved, so wrapped up in music that she did not seem to care for anything else. Perhaps because she was my friend, and it would have been a disrespectful thing to do, in case she was sensitive about it. Perhaps because I partly knew the answer already – she disliked the real world, as good a reason as any for escaping when she could to the glorious world of music. I never questioned her on the matter, but one day the conversation came round to friends and family, and I rather foolishly asked her if she had family anywhere, assuming her to be like Merlin and me – to have a parent or parents in some village whilst she earned her living far away.

'I had an adoptive father,' she said, 'but... His name was Auderic. He was the previous Court Musician and he took me on, as his protégée and as his daughter... He was killed, Ganieda, killed in battle, fighting for Camelot, against some group led by a sorcerer rebelling against King Uther.'

'My God!' I could not help myself. 'I'm sorry...'

'It was long ago...' A brave smile came onto her face. 'I loved him... I love him. Like a father, I mean. Perhaps one day I'll see him again. But until then I have music.'

I felt awkward sitting there whilst she poured out this tragic tale rather matter-of-factly. I had been planning on giving an account of my own adoptive family, but I could hardly speak, at last daring to ask, 'You have never loved another?'

'Other than Father and music?' Juliana smiled vaguely. 'My harp, perhaps...' and with a chuckle she plucked a couple of the strings. 'But if you mean loved a man – I don't think I could.'

'A lot of men fancy you,' I said, trying to swing the conversation round to something more cheerful, more normal perhaps.

And a flickering grin lit up her eyes then. 'I know, they do, don't they?' She did not attempt to be modest. 'Your brother did at one point.'

I stared, and then laughed. 'Really?'

'When he first came to Camelot. But he fancied pretty much everyone then – me, Gwen, Morgana, Philippa in the –'

'He fancied Morgana?' I cut in.

'Before she went evil, of course! But who didn't? She was the envy of every man in the place.'

So Merlin had liked Morgana, the one I hated the most in the world... Suddenly my liking for Mordred didn't seem quite so much like treason.

We were silent for a few seconds. And then Juliana said, 'Is this about Mordred?'

I started. 'What – what do you mean?'

'Ganieda... It's probably clear that I can't tell you all that much about love, except that to lose someone you love through any means is the most terrible thing in the world, and you should try to prevent it wherever possible. Mordred likes you and you like him. As far as I can see that makes for a pretty good relationship. Don't let him drift away.' She lifted her eyes to meet mine. 'You do realise you're quite the envy of quite a few women?'

'I'm what?'

'Handsome young man comes to Camelot and has eyes only for another newcomer, and the sister of a servant at that... Oh, yes, there are some very jealous women around the place. Heavens, Ganieda, all of Camelot knows about you and Mordred – except, it seems, for you and possibly Mordred.'

'Knows what about me and Mordred?' I asked, my voice becoming sharp and a little cutting.

'Is it not obvious? Ganieda, he –'

' – loves me,' I finished, my cheeks burning, avoiding the musician's twinkling gaze. 'Mordred loves me.'

Juliana, it seemed, was struck by the dull and flat way in which I said this, and the expression that I apparently showed then, because she could not reply, instead looking a little guilty and turning her attention to her harp. But still she was watching me from beneath the hair that fell over her face, still she had her ear turned towards me as if listening to my thoughts.

'Very well – I'll say it,' I said at last. 'Mordred is a good and honourable man – a knight of Camelot – he loves me...' My voice somehow stuck in my throat. 'I should not be ashamed to admit that I love him – Juliana, I love Mordred.'

Now she beamed, looking back up at me, her smile lighting up the whole room, so immensely gladdened was she by my words. I had never seen her so happy except when she was in the heart of a passionate piece of music.

'Now you must tell him that.'

I drew a breath. 'I... I can't... I should not be ashamed to admit it, but I am... Juliana, why don't I want to love him?'

I very nearly broke down in tears, but I restrained myself, biting my lip so hard that it nearly bled.

'You do, Ganieda. It's Merlin who doesn't want you to love Mordred. I know Merlin well enough to know that it is very hard to sway his first impressions about people. Thank heavens that trait does not show in you... You have forgiven Mordred, you have overcome all of your fears, and that is so admirable... You should go to him – go now, if you like, the knights will just be coming up from the practice-field...' A glance out of the window told me that this was correct. 'Ganieda – don't let what Merlin says bother you. He loved Morgana once, remember.'

And it was this final statement that made me jump up and, with only a brief farewell to Juliana, run from the room in search of Mordred.

* * *

He was in his room when I found him at last, beating the dust out of his cloak with the air of one who does not quite believe what he is doing – which was true, for Mordred was still in awe of what Arthur had done for him by making him a knight of the Round Table, and still he wondered if one day he would awaken in Morgana's citadel to find that it had all been a dream.

'Come in,' he said to my tentative knock on the door, which was ajar; seeing that it was me, he smiled in a confused manner.

'Hullo.'

'Mordred, I really want to be your friend.'

It was a silly, childish thing to say, and I at once regretted it, but it struck a chord in Mordred, who lowered the cloak and left it on the end of his bed, pacing a little closer towards the door.

'I had rather hoped that we were already friends.'

'I didn't mean... friend. I meant... God, I don't know what I meant. Mordred, why can't I speak to you?' I stammered, my voice bouncing through the sentence like a cart on a gravel track. 'I know, we're friends, sort of, but I mean, Mordred, I like you, I more than like you...'

'You've been talking to Juliana, haven't you?'

I stared. 'What?'

'I told her... no, she guessed it. She guessed... Apparently all of Camelot knows about... about me and you.'

'That's what she said to me too... I don't understand what she meant.'

'Ganieda.' A statement, a plea perhaps. 'Ganieda, do you... Oh, what's the point? Ganieda, I love you, and I rather hope that you love me, because it would look quite stupid if not.'

His hand reached for mine; I began to shrink from the advance – I had not known he was so close. I let him take my hand, though, and felt his touch, so very soft, his hand more brushing mine than holding it... I wondered what he would do, and found myself feeling slightly afraid. Yet he was just as nervous as I was, I realised. I hesitated; and then I said it. 'I love you...'

Then, suddenly, he kissed me, not passionately, but in such a way that betrayed his deep feelings – strong, powerful yet mature, a sweet kiss in some respects, not going too far, merely pleasant – and I enjoyed it, I enjoyed it more than anything in my life before. I knew then that I loved him, that he loved me, and that all was well, all was perfect, and –

_Merlin._

My God, what would he say? I broke away quickly, reeling, stunned; Mordred stared at me, frowning and looking more than a little disappointed.

'What is it?' he asked, his hand still on my cheek.

I pushed him away. 'I cannot be with you, Mordred.'

'Because Merlin hates me. Is that it?' His voice was scornful: he knew that he told the truth.

I blushed and said nothing.

'But I love you, Ganieda, and you love me, do you not? You can't follow Merlin all your life. Follow yourself, your own heart.'

The whispered words were tempting, and my heart was pulled in two different directions. For I loved Mordred, inexplicably and yet definitely, a passion that I did not want to suppress; but I loved Merlin, my dear brother and quite the kindest person I knew, and I did not want to betray him – not ever.

But, of course, the path of love is uneven and irresistible, and I wanted Mordred – I loved him, I needed him.

'Mordred, I –'

'Shun me, then, like Merlin does; see if I care.'

Despite his words he looked terribly wounded, his voice cracking slightly as he snapped at me. 'I'm sorry; I –'

'Mordred, I was going to say I love you.'

He blinked and did not reply, instead taking my hand more firmly and placing his other hand on my cheek, brushing away the stray hairs there, bending slightly so that his eyes were at the level of mine; and he kissed me again, more determinedly this time, and I kissed him back, one hand at his shoulder, one at his waist, and we stayed there for a long while, our eyes closed, lost in our love for each other –

And then I opened my eyes, and over Mordred's shoulder I caught sight of a figure standing in the doorway – Merlin.

I broke away from the kiss, pushing Mordred backwards; Mordred turned, and his face became hard: the two young men, the two enemies, glared at each other with spite and the most immense malice. It was a terrible sight for me, who loved both. I did not like to see the fury that was pent up in them, that blazed in their eyes.

'Sorry, am I disturbing you?' Merlin didn't sound at all sorry. 'Ganieda – Gaius has almost finished making tea.'

'Tell him I'll be there in a minute,' I said. 'Tell him I'm with Mordred. He might understand,' I added, finding a cattiness within me that I had not known existed before then. 'Unlike you.'

Merlin raised one eyebrow and stared first at me, then at Mordred, before leaving the room.

When I turned to face Mordred again, I found that he was looking at me with something akin to admiration. 'So you _can_ stand up to Merlin!'

I could only shrug.

'I should let you go home, brave Gaius's cooking –'

'Perhaps,' I said, and then grinned. 'Well, aren't you going to kiss me goodbye?'

* * *

'You love him!'

Merlin, who had been pacing before me, his face wrought, suddenly turned to me, blurting out this accusation.

'How can you love that – that traitor, that little –'

'Merlin, shut up!'

'He's going to kill Arthur, destroy Camelot, and you –'

'Merlin!'

'_You love him_!'

At this I stood, clutched his arm, turned him so that he faced me. 'Yes, I love him, and I cannot help that, nor can I change it. And I should like it if you stopped insulting him. He's a good man.'

'Good man, ha! Ganieda –'

'Shut up!'

'I hate him!'

'I don't care how you feel!'

This last statement, shouted right in his face at the top of my voice, made him recoil as if he had been slapped across the cheek. Whilst he was still standing there, stunned, I pushed past him and stormed from the room, from the quarters even, leaving Merlin and his opinions behind me, deciding definitely that I, as Mordred, was unmoved by what he thought –


	10. Old Enemies

My happiness over the next few days and weeks was so very immense that more than once I would be asked what I was grinning about, or I would find that I had been lost in some daydream, some delirium brought on by the emotion I felt. I had found a man – a good man – who loved me, truly and chivalrously, a man who understood me, a man I loved with all my heart.

But then there was Merlin.

I had shared a bedroom with my brother since coming to Camelot, I had lived with Merlin in Gaius's quarters, but I began to find it increasingly unbearable. He spoke against my choice almost every time we were in the same room; Gaius would step in if he was there, berating our childish arguments with a sharp comment or, once, a slap on Merlin's wrist. And I would look at my brother, feeling as if I was looking into some distorted mirror. We were siblings. That we could not help. We were similar, that much was evident. But the differences between us were striking.

Eventually we had to agree to disagree, because we too were becoming tired of the quarrel. Yet I was left at a distance from Merlin, who now did not even speak to me if he could help it, and rarely greeted me when he passed me in the corridor.

* * *

'I wish Merlin could understand you and me,' I said one day as Mordred and I sat on the palace steps – not the most romantic of places, but a symbolic one, and one that gave a surprisingly good view over the busy and beautiful city.

'I wish he could,' said Mordred quietly, his hand straying to my bare forearm, running down to my hand, which he clasped. He had told me before now many times that he wanted to be friends with Merlin as well, but that Merlin refused to yield. I had not told him why this was – I had never mentioned the vision that Merlin had seen. I wondered if I should.

'Mordred, Merlin saw –'

Suddenly his attention was diverted by the clattering of hooves. I had come to fear the sound of a quick gallop heading for the market square: it never boded well, not in these increasingly dark times. He stood; he narrowed his eyes, seeing at last a small party of horsemen hurry up the main street: three knights – Percival, Elyan and Leon.

The noise had evidently carried into the castle, for a moment later the King appeared at the top of the steps, his cloak billowing behind him as he ran down to the cobbled square, his voice urgent as he greeted them and exchanged some words that I did not quite catch.

'Hang on...'

Mordred absently went forth onto the next step down, fixing his eyes on the men. 'Wasn't Gwen...?'

'What about Gwen?' I asked.

'She was meant to be with them... Elyan and Gwen... They were going to – wait, what's happened to...?'

He took off down the steps then, leaving me to watch in bewilderment. A small troupe of castle servants seemed to have appeared from nowhere, attending to Leon and Percival, who seemed to be wounded, before putting them on makeshift stretchers and carrying them inside, brushing past me as I stood still in surprise. Elyan meanwhile, wide-eyed in something akin to shock, explained to the King and to Mordred what had happened.

I at length hurried to join the conversation. 'What's going on?' I asked, worried now.

'Gwen's been kidnapped...' The King's face had dropped dramatically, and he looked but a shadow of his usual confident self. 'Apparently it was the work of sorcery.'

And with this laconic explanation he swished up the steps, following the stretchers.

I exchanged glances with Mordred. 'Sorcery? What sort of sorcery?'

'Something dark, going by Leon and Percival's wounds,' murmured Mordred. Then he took off after Arthur.

* * *

He was pale when at last he found me again, having been first to see how the knights were, then consulted again with Arthur.

'Can't you feel it, Ganieda?' he asked at length, pulling his cloak around his shoulders with an involuntary shudder.

'Feel what?'

'The darkness... It's so close.'

I shot a sideways glance at him. He was pale, he looked almost ill.

'I don't like it, Ganieda... This is the work of a powerful magician; it's like... it's like She's back.'

His breath caught in his throat; his cheeks went unnaturally pale.

I hesitated, swallowed. It suddenly occurred to me that we hadn't told him about Morgana...

* * *

Yes, Morgana. You will recall that Merlin had related to me how the witch had been stabbed by Mordred, a fatal blow, Arthur assumed; but Merlin had a few days later admitted that nobody had actually seen her die.

And just the last week, he had seen her.

'Do you remember Mithian... the Princess... Her governess, that old crone, she was Morgana in disguise.' Merlin had narrowed his eyes then, blinking a little. 'I'm certain of it... I attacked her, I cast a spell on her without her seeing – she's out there still, revenged on Camelot...'

Alive. Back. Her. Morgana!

His words had fallen dully on me. I could not, would not believe it – that the person I hated most in the world was still alive, and still hell-bent on chaos and destruction.

'But, Ganieda,' Merlin had said when he had got his breath back, 'you mustn't tell Mordred.' His eyes were desperate.

'Why not?' I had replied, shakily still.

'Well, what if he runs off to join her again?'

'He wouldn't!'

'What do you know?'

'More than you do. Mordred is a good man!...'

He had made me swear that I wouldn't tell Mordred, but now, when it seemed her powers were once again at work in Camelot – it could surely only be her who had kidnapped Gwen and injured the knights in such a way – I knew he should know what we were facing.

* * *

'She _is_ back.'

He spun, a gasp halting before it reached his mouth, choking him. 'What?'

'She's back. Merlin saw her. Last week, when they were with Mithian...'

'And you didn't tell me?'

'Merlin made me swear not to tell you.'

'He doesn't trust me...' Mordred let his head fall onto his hands. Dislike, he could handle. But feeling that Merlin didn't trust him, didn't respect that he had truly changed sides... I put my arm around his shoulders, and held him for a long while until at last he raised his head again and looked at me defiantly. 'What does it matter, though? What Merlin thinks doesn't matter to me.'

But I knew from the way he said it that it most definitely did.

* * *

Arthur and Merlin set out the next day with a handful of knights in search of Gwen and her kidnapper, the identity of whom Merlin at least was sure of, and he bade goodbye to me with a slightly strangled voice. We had not been speaking much lately, but I felt a great love for him still, as his sister, and I knew that he must surely feel the same for me, deep down. We both knew what he might face on this dangerous journey; once again, I was closer to losing him than I wanted to think. Mordred also went, kissing me lightly, assuring me that he would be fine, though not overly confidently. I saw him stride off towards the horses; I saw Merlin's dagger-like glances towards him, and had to go back inside, finding the sight unbearable.

'If it's Morgana...' I said to Gaius back at the physician's quarters, my voice trailing off.

'Then we shall have to place all of our trust in Merlin,' Gaius finished, with one raised eyebrow.

I thought on this, and began to wonder if I did trust him any more...


	11. The Dark Tower

And when they returned it was with grievous tidings: for though they had rescued the Queen after a long and hard journey, they had lost one of their number – the Queen's beloved brother, Sir Elyan, and one of the finest among the knights.

I did not know Elyan well. I had spoken with him once or twice – he had been polite, but with a good sense of humour; he had been an excellent friend to the other knights – Gwaine and Percival did not attempt to hide their tears, for they had laughed and joked together, and now at Morgana's hand their friend had been cruelly ripped from them.

Yet there could be none more affected, surely, than the Queen herself – dear Guinevere, tortured, it transpired, by Morgana, driven to the edge of insanity, as I had been – and now bereft of a brother she had loved. Camelot gave Elyan a grand send-off, which I attended with Gaius and Merlin; the King and Queen were at the fore of the sombre ceremony. I tried not to stare at the Queen, but I could not help it, feeling a lurch when I realised that Elyan had been to her as Merlin was to me – or would be if we got on. If I were to lose Merlin... But was he truly the Merlin I had befriended in Ismir?

'I didn't know him,' murmured Mordred sadly in my ear, as we drifted away from the lake, Elyan's final resting-place. 'But he was nice, really nice...'

'I know,' I replied softly. Mordred blamed himself a little for the man's death – the guilt that now struck all of the knights, the guilt that they had let Elyan go before them and so face the trap that Morgana had set first and unaided.

Mordred whispered some other sentiment then, but I did not hear it, because at that moment the Queen walked past us, and on her face was an entirely unexpected expression. She was not with the King or any of her friends among the others; she walked quickly, with a swinging glance; her eyes betrayed something that wasn't sadness, and her mouth was twisted in something that was almost a smile.

I must have been staring at her because Mordred asked me what was wrong, and I said, 'Nothing.'

'It's Gwen's face, isn't it? She looks...' Mordred could not find the words.

'Guilty?' I suggested.

'Perhaps...' Mordred said. 'Perhaps she blames herself, or she cannot accept it, or... It is a terrible thing that has happened to her; it is a tragic thing to lose a brother...'

'I know,' I replied definitely.

* * *

So Morgana was back, and definitively established in the edifice known only as the Dark Tower: a forbidding structure in which the knights had found Gwen in that state of almost-madness. Perhaps it was her madness that made her act strangely. Whatever it was, it was too much to suffer, and all of Camelot pitied the reduction of the proud and kind queen to a shadow of her former self.

Morgana was back, and that rather than the Queen's condition was what occupied the court and Camelot. The King did not mean for the information to leave the court, but gossip spreads quickly in Camelot, and soon everyone knew anyway. But they did not panic, merely awaited the King to make his next move, because they trusted him, for he was shrewd and always did what was best for Camelot.

The King was onto the matter. But that did not change the very fact that Morgana was back.

Mordred did not seem affected for a good few days, occupied as he was with matters of the Round Table. But one evening when I went to see him in his quarters I found him sitting on his bed with his head on his hands, and he was shivering. He did not notice my entrance until I was right beside him.

'What is it?' I asked.

'Morgana. Morgana's back.'

His voice was that of a man haunted, one who could not escape from a hoard of bad memories. 'She's back, and I can feel it. Like I'm still tied to her – God, Ganieda, it's so cold, can't you feel it?'

I put my hand on his, and found it to be warm and clammy. I wondered if he had a fever. 'You should go to Gaius. You don't look well at all.'

'It's dark magic, not some stupid sickness,' he retorted in an unusually harsh voice. Then he apologised for snapping at me. 'I'm sorry, Ganieda; please, you should go. I'm not myself this evening, you can see that.'

'Are you sure you don't need me?'

I looked straight into his eyes then, those innocent eyes, the eyes of a child who has seen too much; and he clutched at my arm, and then locked me in a tight embrace. 'I have never needed anyone like I need you. But for your sake – Oh, God, no, don't go, forget I ever told you to go. Stay here. Stay right here...'

His babbled statements ended in a choked sob, and I put my arms around him, holding him until the terrible shivering stopped, holding him long into the heavy dusk that descended over Camelot that evening.

* * *

'So Mordred hasn't joined Morgana,' said Merlin in a scornfully light-hearted manner, later when I had returned home.

'Merlin, he would never join Morgana. He's too afraid of her, anyway. Have you not seen him? – the very knowledge that she is back has made him ill.'

'And so it should do.'

'What? What do you mean?'

'He was stupid enough to join her in the first place.' Merlin reached over and grabbed a book from the desk in our room. 'If this illness is what's stopping him from going back – let him be ill. I don't care. It's better that way.'

'Merlin, oh, Merlin! Merlin, how could you say that?'

He did not reply, pretending to be absorbed by the book. I ignored that it was getting late, and stormed from the quarters.

* * *

I leaned out of the slim window, feeling the fresh night air on my nose, cooled by the light breeze that dispersed the humidity that had hung in the air all day. The view over Camelot was as spellbinding as ever: the motley jumble of coloured roofs, the now-empty market-place with the tall statues casting long and eerie shadows, the sprawling wings of the grand castle and the city walls. I never failed to be calmed by such a view, and chose that particular window – one that opened off a communal corridor near to the King's quarters – as my vantage-point when I wanted to escape from my arguments with Merlin.

I do not know how long I sat there on that particular night, but I must have drifted off for a bit, because when I opened my eyes I found the clouds outside to have cleared and revealed the constellations to have moved a little across the sky.

I rubbed my eyes, wondering why Gaius hadn't come to find me; I was about to return to the quarters when I heard footsteps.

I was still unsure about the rules on curfew in Camelot. I knew that it was an offence to be caught in the streets after the bell had rung – especially now, when the town was on high alert – but I believed that it was also unfavourable to be found wandering the corridors late at night. Fearing the steps to belong to a guard I huddled into the alcove with the window in it, sitting tight in the shadows and holding my breath.

The steps came closer, and then they reached my alcove. I saw a figure approach – a figure in a dark cloak drawn low over the face and swirled tightly around the body. A breeze from the window tugged a little at the hood; I caught a glimpse of a face I thought I knew, but which was too shadowed for me to identify, and anyway I was tired and not especially alert, concentrating all my energies on remaining unseen. But I knew it wasn't a guard.

The suspicious figure did not see me; and as it passed I jumped up silently and followed at a safe distance; but a few turns of the corridor later I had lost sight of it. I wondered whether to report my sighting; I tried to find a guard nearby, but there were none, and I was falling asleep on the spot; in the end I went to bed, resolving to say something in the morning, but morning arrived and my brain had cleared all recollection of the incident.

* * *

It was midday before I remembered what I had seen, and only then because I saw the Queen walking down one of the darker corridors in the castle; and as irregular shadows fell across her face I realised who it was I had seen and recognised during the night. A sigh of relief escaped me; if the Queen wanted to undertake night-time excursions, nothing should stop her. She was the Queen after all. I did not need to feel bad about not reporting the incident.

I hindsight, though, I really rather wish I had...


	12. Suspicious Goings-On

I do not think that I have mentioned that I possess no magic whatsoever. I knew, of course, that Merlin was a splendid magician, and that he used his powers whenever necessary for the benefit of Camelot, though he could do so only in secret, for magic was banned on pain of death. I however, despite sharing a father with this extraordinary prodigy – and a Dragonlord at that – was sadly lacking in this talent, though, as I might have mentioned, I was able to communicate mentally with dragons, and to some extent with humans.

Mordred possessed no little magic, being a druid, and he knew that he could reveal this to me because he trusted me, and because I was Merlin's sister. He did not use his powers often, for he had used it whilst a servant of Morgana and many spells reminded him far too much of this time for him to wish even to think on them; and he certainly did not use spells for trivial purposes, as Merlin often did, as he regarded magic as a serious art that should be used wisely and only for those things that a man could not accomplish. He knew, of course, that Merlin had magic, and one day it occurred to me to tell me how he and Merlin had met, for with all that had happened he had entirely forgotten that I did not know.

It transpired that Merlin had met Mordred when the latter was much younger – Mordred is five or six years younger than Merlin, and so was just a child when this first meeting had taken place, when Merlin was a somewhat irresponsible youngster on the edge of adulthood. He had aided in a plan to smuggle the child out of Camelot, for it had become known that the boy was a druid and so possessed magical powers that were considered highly undesirable by the King and his followers (the King being at that time King Uther, who was much more cruel towards those possessing magic than I could imagine his son ever being). Morgana and Arthur (then a Prince) both had helped in saving the boy from his imminent execution. I could hardly imagine Mordred in such a position; I pitied him yet more than I did already, for his life had been riddled with the most unfortunate circumstances. And it seemed from this that Mordred owed his life to Arthur just as much as Arthur owed his life to Mordred.

I must mention this conversation in the midst of what seemed like far greater issues because Mordred happened to mention – I forget when – the name Emrys, and I seized this and asked him what he meant, because Morgana had tortured me to find out who Emrys was, though I had not truly known, and I knew the name to be one of a singular importance.

'Do you not know?' Mordred looked at me in the most immense surprise.

I shook my head.

Mordred leaned in closer, and though we were alone in his room he spoke in a whisper: 'Emrys is the man who will, if the fates are anything to go by, destroy Morgana. He is the subject of the greatest prophecies of the age; he is the greatest magician of our time.' His eyes seemed to laugh then, not unkindly. 'Have you not guessed? – He is your brother.'

'Merlin!' I cried.

I looked in astonishment at Mordred. He was not one to lie, and when he spoke with such conviction it was as well to believe him. Merlin! Merlin was the Emrys I had heard tell of – the name mentioned by Aithusa that had drawn me to Ismir, the figure sought by Morgana – a figure whose identity Mordred had known all along, even at the witch's side! I had to turn away a moment to make sense of it all. Merlin – the greatest magician of our time! I knew he was a magnificent sorcerer, but to hold that prestigious title – he was the one to kill Morgana, the one she feared above all else, the one –

'Good God,' I murmured, still dazed. 'I shall have to make sure I do not get on his wrong side.'

'If you are not already,' replied Mordred without a hint of humour.

* * *

I knew now who Emrys was, and therefore I had to make sure, it occurred to me not long later, that I was not captured by Morgana again. I did not know if I would be so strong this time, with the information plainly at my disposition. I had been willing to die then. I had a good many things to live for now. For a long time I wished that Mordred had not divulged this information, but I did not voice this, for I thought it unlikely that I should have to confront Morgana again, not whilst I was safe in Camelot.

But Morgana, of course, was out there somewhere, still waiting for her chance to strike. Mordred said more than once that the darkness was closing in – that very phrase, repeated until it made me shudder to hear it. Merlin too was on his guards, though he said little of his fears or predictions to me, as we were barely on speaking terms at the present time, and at any rate he was unusually quiet and sullen.

However, one day he came flying into the quarters crying something about an attempt on Arthur's life preceding a pair of knights who were supporting the King on their shoulders. King Arthur sat on the bed reserved for patients whilst Gaius, who had come in with them, tended to some wound he had sustained in falling off his horse, or that was what I inferred from the scant conversation. I was then mending one of my dresses, and did not mean to eavesdrop, but I at length had to put down the sewing and ask what exactly had happened. Sometimes it is not advisable to ask such questions, but so much had been said already that it seemed safe.

'We were attacked by bandits in the forest,' Merlin said quickly, not looking at me. 'The bandits we survived, but something caused Arthur's horse to start and he fell off.' He glanced at Arthur before looking back at the floor and continuing. 'His saddle also came off. It looks like an accident, but...'

'But it wasn't,' said a voice from the doorway, and Sir Leon entered looking flustered. In his hands was the saddle that the King nearly always used for casual rides. 'It has been re-stitched so that it will easily break. It was done intentionally – here, sire –'

And out of my line of sight he showed the saddle to the King. I knew little of these things, but I was aware of a number of ways that would make the saddle dangerous without it being visible to the rider.

The name Tyr Seward was then mentioned, and I recalled the stout, friendly man who worked for the King in his stables. It seemed as if they had named him as the prime suspect, and a minute later a couple of the knights went away again to follow some order from the King's lips.

It was all so chaotic that I did not quite follow what was going on. An assassination attempt from so simple and innocent a servant seemed like a ridiculous suspicion to me, but I expected that was because I had seen far more suspicious things lately – namely the figure in the corridor whom I could not get out of my mind.

I had not yet told anyone about this. It had not seemed to me of any importance, but the more I thought on it the more I became convinced that nobody else knew of it. Had it been Gwen, merely escaping from some nightmare or wanting fresh air? Or had it been a spy, someone working against the Castle?

I then cursed my overly romantic mind for forming such pointless deviations, and returned to my stitching.

* * *

A couple of days later I went down to the market-square to do Gaius's shopping. (Merlin and I did this alternately, for Gaius was permanently busy and Merlin almost that.) I had acquaintances on the stalls, and always found this a pleasant task, chatting merrily with people I knew, nodding at those I recognised, and browsing stalls filled with things I couldn't afford before moving on to the actual task at hand. That particular day was one of those marvellous ones that one gets near the end of winter – not warm, but sunny and dry, crisp and clear with a beautiful blue sky. The market was busy as usual, packed with people walking, chattering, bustling, haggling – crowds of them, crowds that I had to push through to get where I wanted to be. I did not mind; I rather enjoyed the organised chaos.

The butcher Wilfrid was just wrapping up the cut of meat I had chosen when I happened to see something out of the corner of my eye that caught my attention. For a moment I did not know what it was. Then I saw the Queen herself navigating the crowd, trying to remain incognito with her hood up and her head down. I narrowed my eyes, for she appeared exactly as the suspicious figure had that night. Quickly I received the parcel of meat, and hurried as quickly as is possible in such a swathe of people after the dark cloak that swished in and out of view.

I do not know what made me shadow her; I imagine my paranoia at my nocturnal sighting of a few days ago contributed. I had long believed that it had some meaning in the events of current times. Now the figure – or rather, Queen Guinevere – had appeared for a second time.

She stopped then, a little aside from the crowd, next to a stall whose owner was haggling loudly with a stubborn customer at the other end of his table. She was talking to someone garbed all in black and dark blue, whose face was similarly shadowed by the over-large hood that overhung it. A brief conversation; I could not get near enough to hear it; then the Queen moved away and so did the other person.

It was an old woman – I glimpsed her as she turned away and headed down one of the many narrow ginnels that run between Camelot's closely-packed houses. A woman with the sort of face that illustrates the books of fairy-tales that Merlin had shown me in his attempt to teach me how to read – the face of a witch.

I blinked, cursing my mind once again for romanticising the situation. But this did not sate my curiosity, and so, tucking the meat into the bag than hung over my shoulder, I abandoned all common sense and decided to follow the mysterious old woman.


	13. An Insatiable Thirst

I shouldn't have followed her. Any fool could have told me that, and I was the greatest fool for ignoring what my mind told me was madness. But somehow I felt drawn towards this mysterious woman, this witch... no, I did not know if she was a witch, but I knew instinctively that she presented some danger to Camelot, through none other than the Queen herself. If it was the duty of civilians to defend their town, to defend King and country, then I ought to go, putting Camelot first, before my own life.

These were terribly loyal and selfless thoughts, and ones that covered all notions that this was madness and I could get myself into great trouble. Yet something greater drew me to her, the inclination that... I don't know, that I knew what she wanted, what she was doing there... that I knew who she was.

I could not have been more right.

I trailed her through the grimmest part of town, a maze of back streets that is infamous for pickpockets and muggers and other such criminals at darker times of day. Even in broad daylight the sun is prevented from reaching street level by the overhanging roofs, and I have heard rumours of murders at the height of daytime. Yet none of these things occurred to me as I kept my eyes on the figure that went surprisingly rapidly considering her age, the woman who didn't seem to have noticed me.

It perhaps occurred to me that I should have followed the Queen instead, but I ignored that thought.

She then came to the walls, to the little-used western gate of the city. There are guards here, of course, at the gate and on the walls above – or there are usually. I glanced upwards, forwards, even behind me, perhaps due to a sudden feeling of insecurity, and found that the place was deserted. The alleys behind the houses that backed onto the walls, the battlements, the gateway...

The woman slipped out of the city and onto the road beyond.

My heart began to pound in my ears, but still I did not stop. I left Camelot and hoped to goodness that the lack of buildings would not make me too conspicuous. The woman veered from the road, headed for the woodland. I too went this way, disregarding the stories Merlin had told me of the forests – this particular thicket was known for being dangerous. I rather foolishly hoped that it would be perfectly safe in broad daylight.

The clump of trees was not big, but it gave that illusion, being dense and populated by beeches with wide and leafy canopies. It was dark within, so dark that it would have been difficult to tell the time in there. There was one path right through the middle, trodden occasionally by patrols, but otherwise untouched. The figure in the cloak however avoided this path, and swept into the depths of the forest itself.

I very nearly lost sight of her, dark as it was, and because the trees were so difficult to navigate. I scratched my arms on low branches and brambles, and, once too often, feared for my very life when I trod on some twig or caught myself on a branch and snapped the wood there: the sound was far too loud here in the grim and silent woodland.

And she came to a small clearing, and there stopped; I stumbled and hid behind a tree, watching her. She drew herself up – had she been that tall before? – and cast a glance around before turning so that she faced my hiding-place.

I could not help it. I screamed.

I knew that face. That face! that face that haunted me, that had filled my nightmares – Her. Her! She was back, and she was here, and she had seen me.

'Well met once again,' said Morgana smirking. 'It seems you cannot escape me so easily.'

Those blue eyes, darts of ice in a face pale as virgin snow, sparked fiercely. I knew then that she had known that I was following her, that she had known all along – Her! How could it have been her?...

I could not move. For a moment I believed myself trapped by some spell – but no, my fear then was stronger than any magic she could have worked upon me. Still she stood in the clearing, not making any advance on me, for she knew that she had me, that I would not try to escape. She cast off her hood, an unnecessarily dramatic gesture, and her raven hair cascaded down her black cloak, as if to emphasise the darkness that she possessed. Her face almost shone, being nearly white and caught in a ray of cold sunlight.

'So! Shall we talk?'

It was not a question. At her unspoken bidding I stumbled forth and fell onto my knees before her, and with my whole strength put up mental barriers against the attempts she might make on the information I held.

'Your name is Ganieda, and you are the sister of the servant Merlin.'

I said nothing. I wondered briefly why this might be of the slightest importance to her; I recalled faintly that she and Merlin had once been friends.

'What do you know of Emrys?'

It had been so long... the question repeated from the depths of what seemed like the distant past made me shudder with recollection, with the memories that my mind had deemed terrible enough to keep from me.

'Nothing,' I said through gritted teeth.

'And yet you know the name.' Her voice shook with restrained anger. 'Just tell me what you know, and I will let you go free, unscathed. If not...'

The twisted half-smile that she forced then was too familiar to me. She had smiled like that when... no, I did not wish to think on that, anything but...

My muscles clenched involuntarily, preparing themselves for some horrid shock, the terror and then the pain of torture. It did not come. She yet waited for a response. Did she believe me weak? Even after last time? Did she realise, then, that I had softened in my time at Camelot, that I had so much to live for now? Perhaps...

'Who is he? Where is he?'

'I do not know!' I cried.

'_But you know the name!_'

It occurred to me even then that her logic was a little skewed. She was on the edge of madness, or perhaps she had already fallen into insanity – her voice before her outburst had betrayed a superb control over something within her that was fighting to get out. Emrys was her killer. It was not unreasonable that she should have gone mad searching for him.

It was strange, but Emrys's identity then hung on the edge of my mind, as if keeping itself from my grasp: I could not have told Morgana if I had wanted to. And of course I did not want to. That would be to betray Emrys, no, to betray Merlin, whom I hated... whom I hated and yet loved. He was my brother. I would not betray him, not for the world, not even now when he spurned me...

'Tell me! Who is he? Who is Emrys? Who is he to you?'

She made an advance; I staggered backwards, fell, saw something flicker in her eyes – knew she was about to cast a spell –

Suddenly, a voice filled the clearing, a voice I hardly recognised, furious as it was – a beam of light – a scream, Morgana's scream – she collapsed, she fell to the ground, a scattering of leaves – I too felt weak, wondered what was going on –

Mordred's face came onto the edge of my vision. I thought myself delirious, and decided that she had cast a spell after all –

An arm surrounded me, dragged me from the clearing. I felt myself thrown onto the back of a horse. A clattering of hooves; a cloud of moss and dust; and, suddenly, a bright light – the light of the sun. I was out of the forest, I was saved – saved by the man who was driving the horse.

Mordred.

We rode at lightning speed to the city, through the gate (one of the more reputable ones), up the main street, into the courtyard – we came to a halt; I jumped from the horse, turned to Mordred –

His face showed the most immense relief, and then, without warning, he pitched forwards and fainted into my arms.

* * *

He had worked dark and powerful magic to save me, and that one thought occupied me whilst I waited by his bedside for him to wake. I still did not know what he had done. Whatever it was, it had drained his energies, and he seemed to wrestle silently with himself as he slept, his face contorting with some emotion I could not place; and at last when he opened his eyes he let out a long sigh of relief at finding himself in his bedroom, looking a little incredulous that he was indeed in Camelot.

At last, having studied the ceiling with rolling, wide eyes for more than a minute, he turned to me and gave me a weak smile.

'What happened?' I asked as frankly as I could. I was surprised to find myself able to speak, for my brain was whirring to the point of making me feel faint, and the whole incident was nothing more than a dream might have been in the confusing mass that was my memories.

'I do not quite know...' he murmured.

'Did you... did you kill her?' I stammered out. That was how it had seemed to me, and I refused to believe that she could still be alive. She couldn't!...

'No,' he said at last, and when I let out a groan he found my hand with his and clutched it. 'I... could not. The magic, it would have been too powerful...'

Yet he lied through his teeth. He could have killed Morgana. I knew he could. At that moment, when she was without reinforcements, taken by surprise –

'She is yet alive?'

'Yes...'

'And you left her there? Where she will wake? She is hardly a mile from Camelot! And she is still alive! Mordred, what have you _done_?'

I regretted my outburst as soon as the words had left my mouth, but I did not apologise for it. Mordred avoided my gaze and sank back into his own thoughts. I could not read from his face what he was thinking, nor could I begin to guess.

Morgana was still alive. Mordred had had a chance to kill her. He hadn't, he had merely stopped her from causing me harm... She was still alive. Mordred could have killed her, but he hadn't!...

I did not know what to think. I found myself wondering if the whole incident had even happened. Perhaps it had not, and my mind was playing the cruellest of tricks on me...

* * *

It was only later that I recalled the occurrence in the market, the happening that had set this all off. It had been Morgana who had met with Gwen, Morgana who had... had she given her something? I had not been able to see – but it had been Morgana nonetheless, and the Queen had met with her.

What ought I to do? Tell the King? Would he believe me? Why was the Queen on Morgana's side? Was she, though?...

The thoughts were overwhelming. I wished then more than ever that I could have confided in Merlin, if nobody else. But once again I found myself terrifyingly alone.


	14. To Kill the King

I realised rather quickly that I could not tell the King what I had seen. Not to the letter. As I ran through the events it occurred to me that Mordred saving me by magic might not be a good story to make public – and how else would we have escaped Morgana, but for his spell? But I knew something had to be done, and as I did not trust Merlin I related the full tale to Gaius, who was the next best person to tell – he is good to tell anything, to be honest, for he is loyal and trustworthy, and imparts the wisest advice in Camelot.

Gaius was of course profoundly shocked at the implication that Queen Guinevere was working somehow for Morgana; I suggested the only theory I could think of – that Morgana had threatened her with her own death or the death of someone she loved. So soon after Elyan that threat would be a terrible one.

'Or she could be under some enchantment,' Gaius replied.

I started: for some reason this had not occurred to me. But of course – the Queen had been in the Dark Tower, in Morgana's power; who was to say that she had indeed escaped from the witch's influence?

'But how can we tell the King without telling him that Mordred has magic?' I asked fretfully.

Gaius paused. 'I do not know. I fear we cannot until she provides some solid evidence –'

'But we cannot wait for that to happen!' I cried.

Gaius shook his head, agreeing with me but facing a great dilemma. 'Quite. Quite... I shall find a way. I'll think on it, Ganieda. This is serious, I know, but it is going to require some thought.'

'And in the meantime we had better keep an eye on the Queen,' I murmured, and went off for a music lesson I had arranged with Juliana, not much reassured by my conversation.

* * *

I believe I have mentioned an incident concerning an attempt on the King's life, supposedly by Tyr, the stable-hand. Tyr was imprisoned until further evidence came to light, and refused to speak on the matter, saying that he knew who it was but that this person had threatened to kill his mother if he spoke. This was of course perfectly rational behaviour, but it frustrated the King no end, until he was considering the most terrible things to try to get the lad to speak.

He did not end up carrying any of these things out, however, because the day after Tyr mentioned that he had seen the perpetrator, he was dead, killed, presumably, by whomever he had seen.

And but days later, indeed the day after the forest incident, Arthur looked like he would be going the same way.

* * *

He was found in his room, unconscious and under the influence of some terrible poison – one that, according to Gaius, would allow the maximum amount of suffering before at last letting the victim be released to the peace of death. I could think of only one person who would want to do such a thing to the King, and that was of course Morgana. A couple of the others believed this to be the case, but none of them had any idea how Morgana could act in Camelot when she was far from the city.

Gaius and I, and also Merlin, who had worked out some of the matter for himself, and been filled in by Gaius, knew, but we could not say anything. It was deeply frustrating to say the least. But that was not the matter at hand – that was the King's imminent death, which would come within hours if nobody acted.

Gaius claimed that he could perhaps heal the King: this was true, if Merlin had anything to do with it. And so the knights occupied themselves with finding the culprit, that he might be severely punished. Just as they were going to leave Arthur's chambers, I am told, the Queen stopped them, and said this:

'If it is correct that Arthur's food was poisoned... there is only one person with access to his food, and that is Merlin.'

Therefore I found out just that evening that Merlin had been unceremoniously thrown in prison, the prime suspect in a murder case that quickly reached every corner of Camelot.

I knew, and Gaius knew and many others knew, that Merlin was not the culprit. Gaius and I could name the real culprit. Yet we could do nothing... could we?

* * *

I sat that evening by the fire, shivering from something that wasn't the cold, close to despair. Merlin was in prison, to be executed if no other evidence came to light. And the King of Camelot was on his deathbed. I had within me information that would clear my brother's name, and yet I could not voice it. Did I want to clear his name? – but of course! He was my brother...

And as I thought on the terrible matter Gaius entered, and said that he had been to see Merlin, and that the boy was Camelot's only hope, for he was the only one who could cure the King.

'Then how must we get him out of gaol?' I said then.

'Have you seen, perchance, a little quartz phial?' asked Gaius, with the slightest hint of a glimmer in his eye. 'About this big?' He held his finger and thumb barely a few inches apart.

I glanced around the room as he did, and his eyes quickly alighted on the tiny vessel, made from transparent quartz and filled with some clear liquid.

'This might be our only hope,' he said simply, and went from the room.

* * *

The next I heard on the business was that Arthur was healed, and that the perpetrator had been caught – but of course not the true one, just a man from the town who dabbled with poisons, whose name was Sindri and who was very quick to lay the blame on none other than Morgana. King Arthur visibly started at the mention of the witch, and believed at once that this was the case, once again motivated in his quest to find and destroy her before she did the same to him.


	15. A Question of Loyalty

So Merlin had saved Arthur, and Morgana's plans had been once again foiled. She would not hesitate to try again, however, and there were but three of us in Camelot who knew who she would use to carry out the next attack. I had not yet let Mordred in on the matter; Merlin did not want me to, and I felt it would be a long explanation.

I must now add that Merlin and I had started speaking again. It was useless to continue such a pointless feud, and being siblings, we knew that we should not be so catty towards each other. Furthermore, we were, after all, on the same side, and as we were both against a common enemy it seemed futile to be against each other as well as Morgana.

But though we spoke, we were formal. We did not converse as siblings, but with mutual respect, as comrades who communicate only about the task at hand. The rupture in our relationship had led to this distancing, and Merlin still disapproved of me and Mordred, and did not let that drop.

I wanted to be friends with Merlin again. I truly did. He was kind, a pleasant character in truth, funny and cheery even in these dark times; he lightened the hearts of the people of Camelot without trivialising the matter at hand. But he had made it clear that the barrier to our friendship was Mordred.

I had, of course, a friend in Juliana, but she greatly bemoaned the fact that Merlin and I did not get on, for she was a friend of Merlin's – I saw them often in the corridors, Juliana wearing that smile that Merlin always put on people's faces – a smile that broke into a laugh more than often; and Merlin would spout some humorous babble, jumping from funny anecdotes to witty comments to random observations, making her chuckle at every other sentence. It did occur to me that I had never had the chance to chatter so pleasantly with Merlin; I also realised that Juliana had only fairly recently become this close to him. There was no romance between them – or at least, I saw nothing that equated to romance – and though Juliana liked solitude she appreciated friendship, and she now seemed to have a close one with Merlin, one that suited her bizarre but likeable personality down to the ground.

My thoughts then wound to the conclusion that Merlin had befriended Juliana to spite me. I saw less of her, I talked less with her; and at the same time, they had become friends. I did not dare voice this, even to Mordred or to Merlin, because I feared I was wrong, but I believed that there was some spite, some cattiness still on Merlin's behalf in this incident.

* * *

We had of course kept a close eye on Gwen. She did not act for a short while after the previous incident with Tyr, and for a breathless few days we wondered if our suspicions were in fact correct, if she was indeed under Morgana's control – she acted so normally; had we dreamt the happenings? Had it been someone else who had spoken to her in the market, and had I hallucinated the meeting with Morgana in the forest?

She remained, furthermore, within the city walls, and communicated with few people, normally if she did; a lull fell over the city, one that I did not like, one that suffocated it rather than freed it from the influence of the uncertain threat.

'Will she try again, I wonder?' Mordred murmured to me as we studied the city from the window of his room. He had been thinking for a few minutes – indeed, he was always pensive then, and spoke less and less with the passing days; and now he spoke in his usual quiet voice, but it was tinged with something I could not place.

'Morgana?' I asked. 'Perhaps. It is curious that she should be so weak, to be able to come close to Camelot and yet be utterly disarmed by your spell.'

'I fear she is gathering her strength,' Mordred said. 'Perhaps she is testing Camelot's boundaries whilst she recovers.'

'It is a dangerous business, then,' I commented, 'to expose yourself like that before you are prepared.'

'She is desperate,' replied Mordred.

'And then if she finds some flaw in the security –' I was of course thinking of Gwen at that moment, wondering why she did nothing, for if she did not act then we could not do anything to stop here. 'What then? Battle?'

'I hope not,' Mordred shuddered, 'though it might be inevitable.'

* * *

When Merlin and I were in our bedroom that evening, him reading and me sewing, he looked up suddenly, as if an idea had occurred to him, and said this:

'When we had just left Ismir, Arthur told me that Mordred had dealt Morgana a fatal wound, one that she could have healed from only by magic.'

'That must be what is yet weakening her,' I commented distractedly, thinking of my conversation from earlier.

Merlin acknowledged my point briefly, and continued, 'But if he killed Morgana in Ismir, or essentially killed her – why did he not kill her, or essentially kill her, when he saved you?'

He spread his arms, as if he had expounded some great revelation.

'Magic is an unpredictable business, and his spell was instinctive,' I said shortly, 'and his focus was not on killing Morgana, but saving me.'

Merlin just raised one eyebrow. It was clear that he thought this evidence somehow greatly supportive to his theory that Mordred was still on Morgana's side. I tried to counter him, but he had returned to his book, and to interrupt Merlin when he is reading is not the best idea in the world, so I let the subject drop.

* * *

Pounding footsteps on the corridor outside Gaius's room alerted me and the physician to the approach of Merlin, returning from a patrol in the forest; a second set of footsteps followed, and I identified those as belonging to the king himself; and a second later both King and manservant entered, the former thunderstruck, the latter agitated and somewhat excited.

I stood; Gaius very nearly dropped the glass he was holding. 'What's going on?' he asked.

'Morgana... in the forest... with Gwen,' Merlin panted.

'Gwen is under some sort of enchantment,' Arthur continued, 'and Morgana is behind it. We must find out what it is and how we can undo it.'

Gaius and I both looked a little bewildered.

'We need to undo the enchantment that Morgana has put on Gwen,' repeated Merlin. 'We saw them in the forest –'

'– Gwen told Morgana important state business –' Arthur cut in.

'They were plotting further movements against the city...' said Merlin, hurrying to the bookshelves.

'She has been the one betraying Camelot!' Arthur finished with a look of such incredulity that I might have laughed if the situation had been lighter. 'How can this be? How...'

'It must have been in the Dark Tower,' Gaius murmured, voicing our suspicions at long last.

'Good God, but that was _weeks_ ago,' Arthur said. 'Are you telling me she's been under...' He did not need an answer.

So the story was out, our suspicions revealed; and oddly enough, I did not feel any better for it, even as Merlin and Gaius scoured the bookshelves and Arthur spouted angry comments on the situation. What if they could not find out how to remove the enchantment? Would Morgana continue to use Gwen as her puppet, and would we have to find some way of killing the witch, or – God forbid – the Queen herself?...


	16. On Chivalry and Femininity

'She is growing stronger.'

Mordred had not spoken for the best part of five minutes; these four words broke an awkward silence that had been building whilst he thought and I studied the view from his window.

I turned. I did not need to ask who "she" was. Before I could speak, however, he said:

'_Can you not feel it_, Ganieda?'

Once again I went to his side, once again I tried to stop the terrible shivers that wracked him from head to toe.

'When I attacked her, she was weak... now, now... She is almost ready.'

'Ready for what?' I could not help stammering a little.

He looked straight at me. 'An attack on Camelot. What did you think? That is all she wants, that is her single mission.'

'Except to find out who Emrys is.'

'Quite...' Mordred's voice changed a little in tone, but though I stared at him, he did not divulge his thoughts. He had become close of late – oddly taciturn. I could not begin to guess what troubled him. Did he fear for the city? – Perhaps. He certainly feared for Arthur, for they were friends; he feared for me – but none of us were, at that present time, in any great danger. Or so I thought, for I could not feel the gathering darkness like Mordred could.

'I should go for dinner,' I said at length, as the bells outside rang for curfew. Curfew had become a very serious business these days, and even within the castle walls an uncertain quiet seemed to reign after dark. I did not like wandering the shadowy corridors, even this early, when they were empty save for the guards whose watches were sharp and reactions immediate.

Therefore I kissed Mordred, lightly, without the passion that had been so common but weeks previously, and went from the room.

* * *

And whilst I tried to divine Mordred's secret thoughts, Merlin, Arthur and Gaius worked on a plan to disenchant the Queen that left me rather bewildered by its brilliance and sheer oddity. When it was finished, Gaius and Merlin explained it to me thus: that Arthur and Gwen would be led to the Cauldron of Arianrhod, and there a magician – Merlin – would perform the spell that would relieve the Queen of Morgana's power, assisted by the forces that reigned around the lake, which was famed for its position at the centre of a region where, it is said, the very air tingles with magic.

'But surely you have not told the King that you are to perform the spell?' I asked Merlin, looking askance at him over my dinner.

Here Gaius grinned a mischievous smile that I might not have thought him capable of; and Merlin equally grimaced, as if they had swapped expressions.

'I did not tell you what was in the phial, did I?' Gaius asked, scraping at the last dregs of his soup with his spoon. 'It is an Ageing Potion, one that Merlin has taken more than once now.'

'An Ageing Potion?' My curiosity was aroused. 'What does that do?'

Merlin rolled his eyes. 'What do you think? It makes me older.'

'Unfortunately,' Gaius continued as he collected up the bowls, 'Merlin's _older ego_ –' we both groaned at Gaius's bad pun '– has not won the favour of the King. Indeed, Arthur and "Dragoon the Great" –' I could not help but chuckle at the name '– are bitter enemies. So he will not trust him to do the spell. I have therefore told him that it is a different magician who will be present.' His eyes sparkled a little. 'Very different, indeed. A woman.'

The look on Merlin's face then said it all. I burst out laughing. 'You mean you are going to – oh, _Merlin_!' The image of him as a woman had sprung to mind – indeed, it looked rather like me, but I ignored that.

'An _old_ woman,' Gaius cut in.

Merlin looked immensely annoyed at my giggling, but I could not help it. 'Oh, I should _love_ to see that. I suppose it would look odd if I came with you.'

'Probably,' Gaius replied.

'You could always practise before you go,' I said then to Merlin. 'I could teach you how to walk like a lady.'

Merlin was trying to smile, but his face had gone as red as a beetroot. Eventually he managed to laugh with me and Gaius though, and for the first time for a long while I felt as if we were a normal, happy family.

* * *

But, of course, nothing was normal at that time, and the very next day Arthur and Merlin set out with Gwen on a perilous journey, a quest in which a lot could go wrong. The image of a female Merlin no longer elicited a laugh from me, so worried was I about the consequences of their escapade.

The danger had become very real, and I was not the only one to recognise it. For as I went back into the castle and past Mordred's quarters I saw that his door was a little ajar, and that he had his back to it, and was preparing a light pack on his bed. His cloak was slung about his shoulders and as I watched he fastened it; then he caught sight of me.

'Where are you going?' I asked.

He had in that moment tried, but unsuccessfully, to hide the cloth bag and scabbard that he had set out on his counterpane, and instead said, 'To help Arthur.'

'Why?'

'Because he might need me.'

'He has Merlin.'

'I just feel as if I need to be there. There are just three of them, and one is possessed. All of the other knights are busy, so I thought...'

'I will come with you.'

'You mustn't!'

I ran to him, frustrated. 'Don't you understand how _worried_ I am when both you and Merlin are off on some dangerous escapade? Don't you understand how terrible it would be if you were both to get yourselves killed? And now you talk about going _on your own_! Someone must come with you. I shall.'

'I won't risk your life.'

'I won't let you risk yours.'

'Good God, have you not heard of chivalry?' Mordred slipped his belt around his waist and his scabbard onto his belt. 'I am a knight of Camelot. It's my duty to protect the King.'

'I too am devoted to Camelot,' said I.

'You are no fighter, you do not possess magic, I will not let you risk your life like that.' I frowned as Mordred listed what I then considered to be my faults. But it was true: I had no magic, and I could wield nothing more deadly than a farmer's pitchfork.

'Very well.' I sighed. 'Good luck. Good God, Mordred, don't... don't...'

'Die? Don't worry. I'll try not to.' He smiled bravely, and then went away; and I watched him from the window as he rode out of the city and far out across the fields, out of sight.

* * *

_You are no fighter..._

His words resounded in my head as I paced the room before going down the corridor in an indeterminate direction. Mordred had not been scorning me – most girls could not fight, and most were less experienced with sharp metal implements than even I was. But remaining in Camelot whilst the men fought our battles seemed then ridiculous. I was certain that I could, if I wanted to, wield a sword. The opportunity had been denied to me, and I had not until then considered it, but now...

Therefore I found myself in the empty armoury, browsing the weapons; there were many: broadswords, one-handed swords, two-handed swords, rapiers – a magnificent yet frightening collection. I at once imagined stabbing somebody with one of these swords, the blade sliding between the links of a mail-shirt; I wondered if I could do it.

I shuddered, and took a sword – a small one-handed one, but one whose size defied its weight. I nearly dropped it, for I had not expected the weight to be so much; I then raised it, and swung it, finding it ungainly and terribly hard to manoeuvre. I wondered how the knights managed to make duelling look so swift and easy.

So I replaced the sword, and took instead a long, tapering rapier, finding that its blade was blunt but its point incredibly sharp. This sword was fast, swishing through the air and easy to use, but I doubted its usefulness in battle.

I returned to the one-handed sword, and practised a few moves that I thought I had seen the knights use, but my movements were clumsy. I would be dead before I had had chance to strike, were I in battle. It was then that I found that I greatly admired the knights and their supreme skills: sword-fighting was not as simple as it looked – and, to be perfectly honest, chivalry was yet harder, to comprehend and to execute. Mordred, and the others, would go to kill or die trying without a second thought. Whereas I, with a sword in my hand, felt I could never deal a fatal blow – both because of a lack of skill and because of my repulsion at such an act.

_So that is what battle is like..._

Images flooded my head; I could not push away the sight of dying men, the stench of blood that I could suddenly smell. I put back the sword and ran from the place, now knowing why Mordred had not taken me with him.

* * *

And so, like the wives, the daughters, the lovers who filled the castle whilst the men they loved went to war, I waited at the window for Mordred and Merlin's return, a helpless maid, a damsel in deep and pitiable distress.


	17. A Storm is Coming

They succeeded, of course, for that is the wont of the men of Camelot; and with Merlin on their side their success was absolutely assured. It is said that the moment the Queen became disenchanted a shadow was lifted even from the city of Camelot, so far away from the Cauldron; I cannot say that I believed such a superstitious claim, but I do know that on the Queen's return there was much celebration among those who had known of her enchantment; and the story spread quickly, as stories do in Camelot, so that a deceptive peace and joy seemed to fill every street, as if we had defeated Morgana and won a victory over the dark forces that yet gathered beyond our borders.

They returned to Camelot in triumph, and were happy; even Merlin seemed more cheery than usual, though still he dwelt on the true situation, the enemy that had not yet been conquered.

For Morgana had attempted to attack the questers, and she had been confronted by none other than Mordred.

He told me later of his part in the adventure that I have detailed. He had ridden after the others, quickly, determinedly, and he when he had drawn near to them he had saved their lives, without them knowing, and seen the approaching danger in the form of none other than Morgana.

She had attacked, and Aithusa had been at her side – Aithusa, the terrible traitor of a dragon whose very name would always make me shudder – and though Merlin had gone out of his way to save Arthur, he had neglected Mordred, who collapsed through some unknown means and woke up to find himself staring into the face of the woman he feared the most in the world.

She had recognised him, of course, and she had tried to win him over; she had asked the identity of Emrys, and Mordred had refused to tell her, instead overpowering her with magic. Then he had fled, and gone to join the others.

'I believe she fears you just as much as you fear her,' I said at the end of this narration.

He looked sideways at me. 'How do you mean?'

'You know the identity of Emrys, and your powers are at points far stronger than hers, and far more unpredictable. You are clever, like her, but, unlike her, you are on the side that thus far is winning. You are her greatest loss – you were nearly her killer. Good God, Mordred, having you on our side will win us the battle easily.'

'Oh, no, it's Merlin who'll win us the battle.' He spoke modestly, not scornfully, for he did not hate Merlin like Merlin hated him.

'You will be of great help though,' I said, clasping his hand.

He did not commit himself to an answer, and his eyes did not meet mine. I wondered for a second what he was thinking about; but I decided that he was just being modest. He would surely be our salvation, the man who would at last rid us of the atrocity that was Morgana Pendragon. Wouldn't he?...

* * *

When I entered Juliana's room the following day I found her playing the harp, lost in a piece of music; the style was unique, and I guessed it to be one of her compositions. It was a striking piece, dramatic but with undertones of the most calamitous sadness; I sat transfixed until she had finished; at last she plucked out the final notes and lifted her head, noticing me for the first time.

'What do you think?' she asked quietly.

'It was beautiful,' I replied. 'Was it one of your compositions?'

She nodded. 'I wrote it a long time ago – just before Auderic –' She shuddered and composed herself. 'It depicts the clouds of war – the grim storm on the horizon that builds overhead and at last unleashes its terrible power on the people.'

Her description was lyrical, which was usual for her, but at its heart I identified the elements of the piece, her own emotions, what she must have felt on watching her father go to war and never return. I shivered as the haunting notes came back to me.

She stood, letting me sit on the stool; she requested that I play a piece she had taught me recently, a delicate, slow song without words that she had picked up from the folk of a nearby village. Whilst I played she went over to the window, and stood there throughout the entire piece; when I had finished she turned back to me at length.

'The men are practising...' she said. I recalled that one could see the practice-field from her window. At this time the knights would go out and batter each other with blunt swords, more than often coming back inside with a headache and a damaged pride but wearing smiles of such childish indulgence that one could not help grinning back. Sometimes the people of Camelot would watch them practising, for such was their skill that they made it into an art. But Juliana did not smile.

'There is a storm coming,' she said simply, and then sat on the edge of her bed and changed the subject. 'Good. You played it well.'

And as she spoke about something completely unrelated to her current thoughts, I watched her face, that expression that betrayed the most immense sadness. She didn't like Camelot being at war – nobody did. But she was one of the few who would, had she more confidence, protest directly at the very fact of battling the enemy, just so that nobody risked their lives. Apparently it didn't occur to her that an enemy will still attack a rival that does not defend itself. We could not betray the innocent people of the kingdom by letting them be slaughtered, defenceless and undefended.

She had once said this to me: 'You advocate war, and yet you are terrified of losing someone you love in it. Truly, is it then not in your interests to try to stop them, to hold them back?'

I had not replied, but this quote returned to me then, and I felt slightly dizzy. What she said was true: I feared nothing more than losing Mordred or even Merlin in battle. But rather than counter this point and say that we should let every man go to war who wanted to, I decided there and then that I would go with them, and try to save them from the abyss.

How silly I was, how naïve! But I could think no further than going to battle myself. After my brief encounter with the weapons in the armoury, I was not encouraged, but I was also not prepared to give up. Therefore I began to wonder if I could persuade Mordred to teach me how to fight...

* * *

_There is a storm coming..._


	18. A Grey Horizon

The clash of metal on metal was horrid and yet stirring, grating and harsh but symbolic of what I saw as a noble art. The sword was lighter in my hands that when I had merely picked it up; I was wielding it, I was using it as it should be used. It felt quite magnificent, though my wrist was beginning to ache and the blows raining down on the blade made my whole self shudder.

'Parry! _Parry_!'

I raised my arm to block a quick and unexpected thrust; the blades clashed; the force threw me backwards a little, but knocked Mordred completely off his feet. He tumbled; he rolled over; he jumped up more quickly than I could react and came at me again, holding his sword in both hands, swinging it upwards to meet mine.

'Very good! Now –'

His stilted orders came to me vaguely, for the helmet I wore seemed to distort all sounds, so that the breeze and the voices and the swords were swirled up by a rushing that could have been the noise of a true battle. It was heavy, but I hardly noticed, so absorbed was I by the fight.

'And _stop_!'

I dropped the sword and fell to the ground gasping for breath, suddenly worn out. Mordred, almost unaffected, took off his helmet and ruffled his hair, a grin beginning to spread across his face.

'You're pretty good. For a girl.'

'Thanks,' I said with a raised eyebrow.

He laughed. 'Though I've never fought with a girl before, so I wouldn't know. To be frank, you're weak, or rather, your muscles aren't really... developed,' he added, with a critical glance at my arms – which I was slightly annoyed about, as mine were the arms of a farmer, not badly kitted out with muscle from all the work I had done in the past. 'But you've got good reflexes, which is one of the main things, if I'm honest.'

He stood back then, studying me. I too removed my helmet and tossed it to the ground, and then began to lift the mail shirt over my head.

'But at the same time...'

He hesitated for a long while. I watched him closely; he seemed to argue with himself.

'But at the same time I shouldn't... Ganieda, you shouldn't want to fight. I... I couldn't bear you to go to battle. And...' He swallowed. 'You really shouldn't want to fight. It's horrible. You've never killed a man; you don't know...'

I held his gaze for a long while. I knew exactly what he meant, of course, but I didn't want to admit that he was right. I wanted to fight for Camelot. I wanted to help in the battle against Morgana, because of what Morgana had done to me, to Mordred, to Merlin. I could not stand by and watch.

He came closer then; he took my face in his hands. 'Could you do it?'

'Do what?'

'Kill someone. Could you do it? Pierce him with your blade, take his life with a simple act?'

'If he was a traitor, yes,' I said defiantly.

He just gave me a sceptical half-smile and went to put the weapons back in the armoury.

* * *

Juliana had been the first to predict the closeness of the oncoming storm, the first to doubt Camelot's superiority over Morgana's doings. She was then unsurprised when a disturbance drew us to the window during a lesson, and we saw a few villages' worth of people piling in through the main gate.

'What is it?' I asked in horror; even from where we were, the looks of terror on the people's faces was plain to see.

'I imagine their village has been attacked by Morgana,' replied Juliana, who, though she appeared sad, did not sound at all shocked. 'It is the start...'

'The poor people...' I murmured. 'We should go to them. See if they need any help.'

'Perhaps,' Juliana said quietly. And so together we headed from the room and down to the market-square.

* * *

King Arthur had watched the influx from his room, and ordered the people – a group of a few hundred – to be brought to the great hall, where he would decide what to do with them. Juliana and I slipped in at the back, along with a couple of other curious citizens, wondering whether the people would be allowed to stay in Camelot and whether anyone would be needed to assist them or perhaps give them a place to stay. Juliana's quarters had two rooms, and so she said that she would take someone in.

The King appeared at the front of the hall, and asked for silence; the frightened villagers settled down quickly, terrified and awed by the presence of the monarch.

'I should like to say first of all that I am greatly horrified by the tales I have heard of the attack,' he began. 'I am, of course, viciously opposed to all that Morgana does, and her ways with dark magic that cannot be allowed to continue. We are at war with her and her allies, as you know.

'Therefore Camelot on principle accepts with open arms those who flee her tyranny.

'I already had a plan for this, though I had not imagined it on such a scale. However, I can inform you that there are many people in the castle and in the town more than willing to take one or more people in, and so you will be allocated a guardian as quickly as is possible. I must ask that you stay here whilst we organise everything.

'I am greatly horrified by what you have been through. I too have faced the evil of Morgana. I know that she is utterly ruthless and cruel. It is my intention to attack and defeat her as soon as we have precise information on her whereabouts and the size of her army. Plans for battle are being put in place as I speak.'

He paused, glancing at the knights who stood at the edges of the packed hall, and at Merlin, who was at his side. 'I believe that is all. Thank you.'

A thankful murmuring sprang from the crowd, and someone cheered for the King; this shout was echoed by a couple of others, but most people were too exhausted to speak. Then King Arthur descended from the dais at the front of the hall and began distributing orders.

Gaius, who was present, came to me and said that we would be taking in the injured and the infirm. He wasn't entirely sure if they would all fit into the quarters, but he would try. When he had moved away from me to take his contingent of refugees, Juliana surprised everyone by announcing in a loud voice that she would like to take in as many as possible.

Juliana had never spoken so loudly or so frankly, and so the King did not manage to reply for more than a second; he at last said that he was grateful for her offer, and sent her away with a small group of orphaned children. I rather feared for them; I wondered if they would only see the light of day in a few years' time when they had become virtuoso musicians. I stopped myself from smiling though, for this was a serious matter and I knew that Juliana would be sensible about it.

Mordred and a couple of the other knights offered to share their quarters, but they were refused on the grounds that their quarters were simply too small. Mordred was more than disappointed, I could tell. But there were more than enough willing volunteers in Camelot, and soon the hall was empty; therefore I retreated back to my own bustling quarters, in which perhaps twenty injured people had gathered. I had expected more; I then realised that it is very hard to escape Morgana with your life, and that these people were really rather fortunate.

Indeed, with all this talk of fierce fighting and oncoming storms, I wondered if the men of Camelot would be quite so lucky in the imminent and inevitable battle.


	19. Stormcrows

The mornings were getting colder, though it was the middle of spring. There was no frost, but a heavy fog that seemed to consume everything, one that nobody liked and some thought a terrible omen. It hung low over the city and was a matter of great concern for the watchmen, for they could not see very far at all out over the fields; any attack to come would surely be a surprise.

It was therefore with astonishment that they reported that a group of people was very close to Camelot, and it was only when a band of men was sent out to investigate that they were revealed to be more refugees, come from, I heard, near to the border.

Then I heard the word "Tunyncel" and started violently, before jumping up and running down to the street.

A fragmented selection of people I knew had gathered in the market-square, and among them I saw my own stepmother, her eyes red and her mouth downturned: like the others, she looked haunted and terrified.

I ran to her; she took me in her arms without a word.

'What has happened?' I cried.

She let out a long, shuddering breath. 'An attack... dark-clad men, barbarians...'

'Morgana's men,' I said at once, choking on a rush of anger and emotion.

She looked astonished. 'Morgana? Is she not the High Sorceress of the northern lands?'

I nodded.

'Why, then, would she attack our village?' She could not go on, and began to cry. I threw my arms around her, and over her shoulder took stock of the people who milled around, noticing those absent more than those who were present. There had been perhaps twenty of us in the village; only ten had made it to Camelot.

Just before I could reply and say that Morgana's methods were known only unto herself, and that the extent of her evil stretched far beyond the northern wastes, the King came down to the courtyard with an entourage of knights, and led the people into the castle. Mordred scurried to me, seeing that I knew the villagers, and though he did not speak he exuded sympathy, recognising exactly what had happened.

I felt dizzy. For a long while, Morgana's influence had seemed distant, but now she had landed a dagger in my own heart, destroying the village I had called home, a life I had once loved. I had been meaning to go back; now I perhaps never would. Times were changing, nothing would ever be the same.

A storm was on the horizon, and it needed only the right moment at which to strike us all down where we stood. Battle was close, too close. Morgana was growing in strength...

Did I, then, despair for Camelot? Perhaps. Yet I had to trust Merlin and Mordred, I had to believe that they would overpower Morgana easily, otherwise – otherwise I would surely go mad.

* * *

I wept that day for those who had been killed in the attack; I especially mourned Thomas, a friendly, burly farmer who, my mother told me, had died defending her, for he was handy with a pitchfork and rather well-built, and so had decided to go down fighting that the other villagers might be saved. I could scarcely believe that someone so peaceful, so normal could have done such a thing. Nobody in my village should have had to suffer such a tragic occurrence.

There was a small amount of room for my stepmother to set up a bedroll in the room I shared with Merlin; therefore introductions were necessary, for she had not yet met Merlin; and she seemed to approve of him, for he was immensely kind to her, and terribly polite, but with a dash of anarchic humour thrown in. Such is the charm of my brother: he can win over anyone with a smile and an amusing comment. You might say that humour had no place in this situation, but he is very tactful, having much experience of such matters.

He did not comment on this new arrival of fugitives; I began to wonder what he was up to. Most people in Camelot regarded these attacks as spontaneous, the beginning of the end, a practise for what would inevitably happen to Camelot. But I did not think so: I wondered what Morgana's purpose was – was she looking for something, someone? Or had the villages somehow angered her, or been an obstacle for her quests?

I did not truly know, and I did not want to know. All I knew was that Morgana was evil, and that we would need all the help we could get in destroying her and restoring peace.

* * *

'Left! – careful – careful – and up – to the right, now –'

Our fighting was furious, our blows frenzied; I was beginning to learn why the knights loved swordfighting so much – for the rush of excitement that came with battling for your very life was exhilarating, and though I did not quite understand the masculine taste for blood and battle I began to love the grace and skill required for such practice skirmishes as Mordred and I engaged in more and more frequently. He did not disapprove of my practising, though he was still determined to prevent me from going to battle: he merely wanted to make sure I could defend myself, if I needed to.

And after this particular session, he came and threw his arms around me, seemingly for no reason, though I knew that at that time he had become clingy, though I did not know quite why. The romance had returned to our relationship; we were closer than ever (when we weren't trying to beat the living daylights out of each other).

'I hope you never have to use what I have taught you,' Mordred whispered then, kissing my forehead and stroking the back of my neck before leaving for sentry duty.

* * *

I usually returned to the armoury then, to put down the weapons and armour, but this time I stayed in a nook behind the walls and practised some of the moves that Mordred had shown me – mostly defensive, of course, though I had developed some rather effective attack manoeuvres in the course of our sparring.

And just as I was practising, I heard a voice from the wall above me: 'What are you doing?'

I looked up, and saw Merlin leaning over the battlements, his brow furrowed.

'Practising,' I said nonchalantly.

'For what?'

'For whatever might come my way,' I replied.

'Who taught you to fight?' he asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

'Mordred.'

He paused and sighed. 'You won't need to fight, you know. We'll meet Morgana far from the city. Protect the civilians.'

'And if I should choose to go with you?'

A long, heavy silence fell. I could tell that he felt the same way as Mordred. I was, of course, hot-headedly foolish in thinking I could go to battle as easily as to the market; I knew that there were so many people who wanted to protect me from harm, and that I was being selfish in spurning their offers of sanctuary. Yet I could not stand by and watch...

'You can't go to battle.' He did not add _you're a girl_, but I could hear it in his slightly scornful voice.

'Why not?'

'Because I don't want to lose you.'

We had not been terribly close of late, as you know, and so this comment caught me off guard. He spoke simply, and did not reveal any of whatever emotion was fighting for his attention within him.

We stared at each other, a mutual understanding passing between us. We were siblings. We might have spent a lot of our time together not on speaking terms; we did not get on – but that did not mean that no love existed between us. I would hate to lose Merlin. I had rather hoped he felt the same way about me.

He clutched the battlements as if seeking support, a look of dismay beginning to cloud his face; and then he vanished from view. And though I wanted to heed his words, I found myself ignoring them, and went on practising as if nothing had happened.


	20. Changing Times

My stepmother met Mordred quickly, for it was wise that she knew of my love interest: and though he did not charm her like Merlin did (I suspected she was a little in love with Merlin, like most of the women in Camelot), she approved of his dependable, sensible bearing and his fierce loyalty to me and to the city. And when the introductions had been made and Mordred had gone to whatever duty required his presence at that moment, my stepmother turned to me with a half-smile and asked when we were getting married.

I gaped like a fish out of water and could not find the words with which to reply to her. It was only after a minute that I decided that she must be joking, or perhaps teasing me, and so I chuckled nervously: for she did not know that she had hit on something that I had more than once thought on, something that I found I really rather wanted.

She met my laugh with a furrowed brow. 'No, really, Ganieda.'

'Well, we... haven't really discussed that. We haven't got that far. We haven't even known each other that long,' I spluttered.

'What if battle comes, and he is killed?'

'Mother!' I gasped, for the moment shocked and horrified.

'Ganieda, truly, listen to me. Life is too short. I have seen that...' A tear rolled from the corner of her eye. 'You are in love, I can see that. You believe that you will be together for ever, or whatever it is you young people believe these days. But you can't know that, and with Camelot on the brink of battle...'

'Mother, what are you saying?'

'I'm _saying_, Ganieda, that you should marry him without delay,' she said. 'Otherwise it will be too late... I presume you mean to marry him one day anyway?'

'Yes. Yes!' I stammered. 'But not yet...'

'Ganieda –'

She took my hands in hers, and with her haggard eyes that had seen too much stared into mine. She did not speak, but conveyed a world of emotion into my whirling mind: she knew what it was like to love a man and to lose him. If Mordred were to perish in battle... I did not like to think on it, but I knew that she meant we should fulfil our relationship before it was no longer possible, we should show the ultimate proof of our love. And I knew that under all of this, she was willing me to at least carry on his line in case he did not live much longer.

These thoughts terrified me. I did not want to grow up that quickly. I wanted to be free and happy, not a wife and mother. 'I am not old enough,' I managed to say.

'You are plenty old enough,' she scolded me. 'I married your stepfather when I was fifteen.'

And with that she let go of my hands and left me to collapse on my bed and think.

Yet would he ever ask, or would I ever pluck up the confidence to persuade him to ask? It was too soon, I could not get over it being too soon; and what if he did not wish to tie himself to me like that? Why did my mother have to be so very rational?

I did not discuss this conversation with anyone, and willed myself to forget it. Indeed, I rather think I succeeded, for alongside my efforts there came an incident that would make anyone forget anything lesser in an instant.

* * *

Merlin is prone to night-time wanderings, whether on a secret mission or just bored of abiding by the laws; and so when I awoke after a dream to find his bed empty one night I merely rolled over and went back to sleep, hoping that he wouldn't be caught. But in the morning he came down to breakfast immensely troubled, and gave Gaius a handful of scraps of paper.

'Where did you find these?' asked Gaius straight away.

Merlin blushed and did not reply.

'Merlin, I _told_ you not to go back to the wood! You don't know who that woman was. She could be working for Morgana. Indeed, that is highly likely.' Gaius sighed and began to try to piece the damp scraps together.

He got out his glass and scrutinised them; whilst he was trying to work out what they were, I asked Merlin: 'Woman? Wood?'

'I met a woman in the woods the other day,' Merlin said, somewhat unhelpfully. 'She told me something about a "great battle". She ran off when she heard someone coming... I said I would go back and find her. So I went, and she wasn't there, but I found these.' He glanced towards the paper. 'She wasn't working for Morgana. I just _know_ it,' he added a little disdainfully, as if he trusted his sixth sense more than Gaius.

Gaius looked up at length, and said, 'These are written in the Catha language... I cannot translate them fully, for I do not know the language well, and the writing is mostly obscured.'

'The Catha?' asked Merlin suddenly.

Gaius put his glass to the paper again. 'I strongly suspect that Morgana has captured Alator.'

'Alator?' I asked.

'A man who worked... pretended to work for Morgana,' Merlin explained. 'He defied her to save me... I owe him my life. He was very brave... I didn't think I would hear of him again.'

'He knows who you are,' said Gaius simply.

Merlin started. 'Oh, God... of course...'

I looked sideways at him, but he did not elaborate. I however assumed that he was referring to Merlin's alias as a magician... indeed, as Emrys.

And if Alator knew that Merlin was Emrys, and Morgana had captured him...

I did not express my shock, for I was not supposed to know Merlin's druid identity; however, I felt suddenly ill, and had to leave the rest of my breakfast. If Morgana found out who Emrys was... the consequences did not make for pleasant thinking.

* * *

I did not voice the matter to anyone, for I knew that most things that were discussed within the physician's quarters stayed within the walls of those rooms, but I thought on it the entire day, and found that it obsessed me; at every moment I feared that Morgana would have found out the truth, and imagined what she might do when next she met Merlin. I knew that Merlin was far more powerful than she was, but it was hard to imagine his thin, weak self fighting against the witch...

We were closer to true battle than ever, I realised quickly. Juliana had been right, my stepmother had been right: battle was on the horizon, and nearer than any of us would have liked. I thought then of Mordred, of his role as a knight of the Round Table: I knew he would fight without a second thought. Mother's words came back to me: _It will be too late_...

Was everyone I knew a prophet, or had I remained blissfully unaware of the dangers we faced? I cursed my naïvety then, cursed my innocence – and it was then that I realised that I was not free nor happy, and that I really and truly needed to grow up.


	21. Two Men, One Woman

'Your stepmother wants me to marry you,' Mordred said simply, without looking at me, his gaze cast over the hazy city as if searching for something.

'I know,' I replied after a moment's hesitation.

'She said that you thought it was too soon...'

My eyes met his. 'Yes.'

He swallowed. 'Perhaps it is.'

He did not elaborate, nor say exactly what he thought on the matter; I continued to stare at him, to try to persuade him to go on, but he did not, and merely leaned a little out of the window, his hands clasped. 'Ganieda, if there is battle...'

'Must everyone talk of battle?' I said in despair. Then, retreating from my words: 'Sorry. No. Go on.'

'If there is battle, and I am killed...'

'Mordred!' I interrupted him again, aghast. 'You mustn't say such things.'

'Why should we skirt the issue? If nobody talks of it...' He shuddered. 'If there is battle, and I am killed, what then? Is it better to leave you as a lover, or a widow?'

'Mordred...' My voice shook with unrestrained horror and grief.

'Your mother wishes you to bear my children, at least, and so wants our marriage to be as soon as possible.'

I noted his use of _your mother_ once again, as if he did not agree with her, as if he was arguing with his very self.

'She said that to me too. But it is too soon... do you doubt yourself in battle?' I asked then.

'No. No. Of course not. I cannot boast about my skill, but I have a survival instinct, at least, and it has served me well...' A half-smile. 'I do not like to talk of such things, either, but they must be discussed. You are indecisive; I shall let you make a decision. But, Ganieda – if you should like to get married, I would be pleased to call you my wife.'

Our eyes met; I felt myself blush, and he met this with a shy smile. Then he left me to think.

* * *

The next day saw another contingent of refugees arrive in Camelot – a group that was much talked about then, for their home town was in a place where magic was yet used, and it was suspected that a number of the arrivals possessed magic. King Arthur however did not draw his attention to this in his speech to them, and granted them refuge in the city, a move that was greatly praised by nearly all of his subjects. I discussed the matter with Merlin and Mordred, who were both, beneath the surface, encouraged by this move, for it showed that Arthur was becoming less biased towards magical peoples; neither of them, however, believed that to show their own magic to him would be wise.

Merlin, though slightly heartened by his master's response, was still gloomy, as he had been for a good while: though I felt that somehow the new refugees had deepened his anxiety. I wondered if it had something to do with the incident of the previous day, and so asked him who the woman had been whom he had met in the woods.

'Her name is Finna,' he said quietly. 'She is a follower of Alator.'

'Not on Morgana's side then,' I said in relief.

'Not on Morgana's side,' he replied, but did not give any hint of a smile. 'But if Alator has been captured by Morgana, then...'

I nodded, understanding, but could say nothing.

'She has asked me to find her tonight,' he continued.

'Tonight?' I repeated. 'Gaius will be angry if he catches you sneaking out again.'

'He won't catch me,' said Merlin. 'I know a couple of spells of concealment; I'm not terribly good at them, but I've been practising.'

And he murmured something, and his eyes flashed gold, and suddenly there was nothing before me but a flickering outline, an odd shape – the conviction that there was someone there, but that one could not focus on them no matter how hard one tried. It was bizarre; I laughed at the strangeness of it, for I could not help it.

And then there was a faint shimmer, and Merlin was back. I noticed that his brow was shining.

'It's really hard to maintain,' he said. 'I don't know why it's so hard. It's frustrating. But it'll be useful.'

I nodded uncertainly. 'Are you sure you'll be safe?'

'I'm sure.'

'Would I be a burden if I were to come with you?'

He looked astonished. 'You... I can't let you come. It's too, too... dangerous.'

'You just said it was safe.'

'Yes... Yes, I suppose I did. But I won't let you risk your life.'

'I shouldn't let you risk yours.'

'I have magic.'

'I'm pretty handy with a sword.'

He stared at me, as if shocked that I should suggest that swordfighting was even near to the same league as magic. 'No. I won't let you.'

We tried to outstare each other for a moment; Merlin looked away first. 'Look, you're my sister, I love you to pieces, even though it doesn't always seem that way.'

'And you are my brother, and I love you... And times are going to be dangerous from now on, for both of us. Let me come, Merlin! I am fed up with staying here doing nothing. I want to help.'

'Not tonight. There will be other chances.'

'Yes, tonight. You will need someone with you.'

He sighed. 'I cannot let your coming weigh on my conscience. I shall never agree to it... Follow me, if you like, but I shall never say yes to your request. I can't.'

His voice cracked then, and he pulled me to him, embracing me for the first time in a long while; and we were at last brother and sister once again. I wondered for how long we would be able to enjoy that relationship... I wished then that we had made up a lot sooner.

* * *

I did not heed his warning: when I heard him slip out of bed, and when I opened my eyes to see a shadow flit from the room, I slid from my own bed and pulled on my boots and jacket, and grasped a sword that I had hidden beneath a pile of clothes, and went after him, being careful not to awaken my mother or Gaius. I suppose I wanted adventure, but I wanted more to help, because I no longer wanted to be useless, the damsel, the plaything of those men who left us to grieve for them. I followed Merlin out of the city, him invisible, me avoiding the guards as best I could, and across the fields; and I held my sword with both hands, ready and waiting, his guardian angel.


	22. Finna

Merlin did not seem to notice me until we were at the border of the forest; then, suddenly, he turned: and his eyes seemed to flash in the darkness, though he cast no magic, and he did not appear angry, more – sad.

'You came then,' he said simply.

'I came,' I replied.

He could not deny that he was grateful for the company and the help, but he did not voice it, and merely let it show on his face. Then he said: 'We must hurry: we haven't got time to lose. And keep as quiet as possible. We mustn't be detected.'

We slipped then into the forest, and wove our way through the black outlines of trees, trying to see where the shadows of branches were so that we would not tread on them and so alert the woods to our presence. I did not know which I feared more – Morgana and her allies, or the wild creatures of the night that called from a distance. Merlin was far braver even than I had estimated if he could come out here so often and so confidently.

Then, abruptly, he stopped, and squinted through the darkness. I tried to follow his gaze, but could not, for his night vision was far better than mine. Then he whispered, 'Hello?'

It was perhaps a reckless move, but I trusted that he knew to whom he spoke, and a moment later a woman emerged from the shadows, her arm held up as if to strike, but then lowered as she realised who it was.

She was a short, friendly-looking woman, of the sort that I often saw shopping in the market, perhaps, but with crinkled eyes betraying a superior intelligence, maybe even a world-weariness: haggard dark eyes, the eyes of a woman grown old before her time. And these eyes fell first on Merlin, and then on me.

'Who is the girl?' she asked curtly.

'I'm Ganieda,' I replied. 'Merlin's sister.'

Her suspicious expression became a warm smile in an instant. 'A pleasure to meet you, Ganieda. Now, Merlin, come, we must talk –'

She stopped abruptly; all three of us looked round at the same time, responding to a rustling in the branches nearby. I clutched grimly at the hilt of my sword; Merlin gave a yell – 'Get down!'

I ducked, and heard an arrow whistle over my shoulder; then, suddenly, the attackers were upon us; and though I fended off the blows from their swords I found myself unable to get any further than defence. I heard Merlin and Finna both whispering something – a spell! –; I lunged forth into the blackness, and felt the blade cut through – something: I did not like to think that it was flesh, but the resultant roar of pain told me otherwise. A little nauseated, I withdrew the sword and ran it through the grass to clean the blade before I saw it in daylight.

There were but three men, and they were fended off by whatever spell the two magicians had cast – I realised then that Finna possessed no small skill; I felt a hand grab mine and we ran; then as we approached a clearing I realised that it was Finna's hand, and her other arm was supporting a staggering Merlin.

The white light of the moon now fell upon us, and I saw, as Merlin dropped to the ground and clutched at his leg, that there was blood there; I ran to him.

'You're wounded!' I said.

'It's... nothing,' Merlin stammered, his breath coming in short gasps.

'We should get to safety,' said Finna then, looking around her. 'Those men won't have been alone.'

'Where can we go?' asked Merlin.

'There is a watch-tower not far from here... Can you walk?'

Merlin, trying to control the contortions that the pain wrought on his face, nodded his affirmative and stood with difficulty. I still regarded him with a look of the utmost concern, but he shrugged it off with an admirably reckless air. 'Yes. Let's go.'

And we walked then to an ivy-covered tower that was half-hidden among the trees, like it had been consumed by the forest: a forgotten outpost, crumbling but our only hope of safety. We entered, and I took the lead, running to the upstairs room; it was only once I stepped onto the creaking floorboards there that I realised that Finna and Merlin had not followed, and I heard their whispering voices downstairs; but then their footsteps came pounding up the steps, and into the room I was in, and Finna drew the bolts across the door.

'They are coming,' she told me. 'You and Merlin... you cannot let Morgana know you are here.'

'Why are you doing this for me?' Merlin asked, as I went to him, studying his wound with a slight revulsion and tearing a strip of fabric from my nightdress to bandage it with.

'Without you, Emrys, Arthur cannot build the new world we long for.'

Her eyes showed infinite longing. 'The Catha have guarded their knowledge for so long... But only you can carry their hopes into the great battle. Now is the time to pass on that knowledge to you.'

Merlin narrowed his eyes, not comprehending; and though I too did not understand I knew well that her prediction of battle could not be taken lightly. Three times I had heard mention of a coming battle; twice I had dismissed it. I would not this time.

Finna drew then from within the swathes of her cloak a small wooden box, and handed it to Merlin, who took it with a strange reverence.

'Guard it well, Emrys,' she said.

'I shall,' Merlin whispered.

'And you, Ganieda – keep him safe.' She smiled shakily.

'Of course,' I replied.

'And –'

Finna broke off then, and there was a sudden panic in her eyes. 'There is someone coming...'

'Morgana,' muttered Merlin.

'Go to the roof,' Finna said then. 'Both of you. Quickly. I'll stay here: it'll look as if I am alone.'

'But we can't leave you here,' Merlin said, aghast, at the same moment as I said: 'We won't abandon you.'

'You must,' said Finna. 'She must not find you, and if I stay, and protect your location –'

'I do not wish you to do such a thing for me,' Merlin murmured, humbled. 'You would surely die.'

'For you, gladly,' she said simply. 'Now go. And Emrys – it has been an honour to have met you.'

'I have been honoured to know you,' said Merlin, vaguely, as if in a daze; he clutched her hand and shook it, clasping it tightly.

'Ganieda, you are lucky to have Merlin,' Finna said to me. 'Look after him. Look after him for me...'

There were footsteps then, right at the foot of the tower, and voices – those of angry and determined men, the soldiers of Morgana. We all exchanged glances: and Merlin and I by an unspoken accord remained rooted to the spot, loath to leave Finna at their mercy.

'Now!' she whispered, and her voice was so desperate, so imperative that we both took off up the stairs, and emerged onto the roof just as we heard the men enter the tower.

Merlin collapsed to the floor then, still grasping at his leg, which I had roughly bound but which was in a bad way. But he did not let me near him, instead listening intently, for there were voices just below us: we could not make out what they said, but it was evident that Morgana herself was there.

And we were completely silent, hardly even daring to breath; and then the conversation was halted, and there was a sudden shriek – not from Finna, but from Morgana herself, a shriek of nothing short of despair, utter horror – a noise I had not imagine could come from one so cold.

Merlin did not speak, and nor did I, but in that moment we shared the same thought: _What on this Earth has happened?_

And there was a clattering, and we heard Morgana and her men leave the tower at its base, and stride mercilessly through the woodland and away into the night.

Relief and horror and shock coursed through me all at once: for but one thing could have happened, and that was that Finna was dead. Neither of us dared to make sure of this fact; we just clung to each other for a long while, wondering what we ought to do now, what dangers yet threatened us. And I found that I had forgotten Merlin's injury, and suddenly realised, as dawn began to break the horizon, that he grew weaker by my side.

'Merlin,' I said urgently, shaking him as he threatened to slip into unconsciousness.

'Don't worry,' he murmured in return. 'Help is coming.'

Then, suddenly, I heard a sound that I could not place – that of beating wings, perhaps, but far bigger wings than any bird I knew owned. A rush of air, a shadow that fell over us – I looked up.

A Dragon.

It was a blue dragon, and fully grown, a more intimidating and mighty presence than Aithusa; I hardly dared believe what I was seeing, for surely there were no dragons left save for Aithusa, surely –

But I had not time to wonder, and nor did I have the strength to; and as the dragon swooped down and grasped us in his claws I fell into a deep and merciful slumber.


	23. Great and Terrible Magic

The glade was flooded with hazy spring sunlight, and the grass tousled and soft; I awoke feeling as if I had been sleeping on down, and was therefore astonished to find myself in a forest. I could scarcely remember the events of the night.

As I was rubbing my temples, trying to work out how I had got there, I turned and saw Merlin, and recalled fragments of memories; and he smiled at me and asked me how I was.

My brain became gradually less fuzzy, and I replied: 'I'm fine... But I should be asking you that. You were wounded...'

'I am healed,' he said simply, drawing up the bottom of his trouser leg to show that he was free of the terrible injury that he had been dealt.

'Oh, thank _goodness_,' I murmured in relief.

That was when I remembered the dragon.

He stood over us, his shadow angled in the opposite direction so he did not shade us, and was silent, with a lopsided smile across his scaled face; and I started as I caught sight of him, but quickly regained my composure and remembered my manners.

I stood up and bowed to the magnificent creature, and greeted him; I heard in my mind a sound somewhat akin to a laugh, and a deep voice that said: _It is a pleasure to meet you, Ganieda._

It was one of those warm reassuring voices that instantly calms one, and wins over one's trust; I said in turn that I was honoured to meet the dragon.

And then, greatly curious, I turned to Merlin and asked how it was that there was another dragon alive in the world, and how it was that he had come to be his acquaintance.

'Chance,' said he. 'Chance, and something of a misfortune. Kilgharrah – that's his name, Kilgharrah – was kept alive by Uther, so that the king could show his power over the ancient race. I freed him from the caves beneath Camelot a few years ago. But I have often had need of his help, and he has nearly always obliged, and I owe him more than I can –'

Here he broke off, and glanced towards the dragon with a look of something like despair.

'What is it?' I asked.

_I am dying_, said Kilgharrah simply.

I stared at him and then at Merlin, aghast. 'Good God! Is there nothing we can do?'

_Alas no. My time has come, and magic cannot cheat fate..._

I did not know what to say, and so said nothing, but thoughts swept through my head like autumn leaves in the wind.

_Ganieda, Merlin, I must go,_ Kilgharrah announced then, projecting his thoughts into both our minds. _But, Ganieda – you must keep Merlin safe. It is his destiny to protect Arthur, and yours to protect him._

'I shall,' I said. 'He is my beloved brother.'

_And I shall still be there, Merlin, when you need me the most._

Kilgharrah smiled then, though it was an enigmatic smile, and I could not deduce what it meant. Then, without warning, he spread his wings, a great velvety mass, and took off; the draft buffeted us and we fell backwards; and then he was gone, a shadow and then nothing over the trees that surrounded us.

And I marvelled, but at the same time felt a deep and heavy sense of regret come over me. 'Is he the last?' I asked Merlin at length.

'Apart from Aithusa, you mean?... Yes. I believe so.' Merlin sighed. 'If there is one thing I wish I could change, it is Aithusa's treachery. I am intimately bound with him: I found his egg, I named him...' He grimaced. 'I feel as if I have failed him.'

'No!' said I. 'You cannot have let him join Morgana. That was his choice.'

'Was it though?' Merlin muttered, and said nothing more on the matter.

* * *

We walked back to Camelot mostly in silence, covering the three or four leagues in a few hours, and entered the city in the late morning, tired and wishing for nothing more than food and home. But Merlin had to go and find Arthur, so he went reluctantly to the King's quarters, trying to fabricate some story to explain his tardiness; and I was left to stumble back to Gaius's quarters, rather wishing I had never followed Merlin.

Gaius was much surprised to see me and looked as if he had worried greatly; my mother was not there, but he came to me saying something about how anxious they had both been on finding both beds empty.

'But where have you been?' Gaius asked, seeing that I was ragged from running through the forest, and that blood spattered my boots. I must have been a horrific sight.

'Merlin will explain later, I imagine,' I replied. 'He knows more on the matter than I do.'

Gaius was angry at my reluctance to tell the story. 'Did he go to find that woman?'

I listened for a moment, to make sure that there was nobody around, and then said: 'Yes. And she is... she was a good woman. She... she died that Merlin might live.'

Gaius's face contorted, and he was silent.

'But you should not worry. We are safe; we are home. I do not wish to speak of what happened.'

'No. No. Quite,' said Gaius vaguely. 'I understand. Would you like something to eat? I am sure you can't have had breakfast.'

'I'm ravenous,' I realised then, and sprang up to help him prepare a quick but very welcome meal, trying not to think about the events off the night.

* * *

'Finna gave me this,' said Merlin after dinner that night, once my mother had left the room, drawing from his jacket a crumpled piece of paper and handing it to Gaius.

I looked at it with interest, but could not read it, for it was in a foreign language and a convoluted hand; Gaius studied it intently, and let out an involuntary cry.

'What?' asked Merlin, looking terrified.

'It is, I fear, a prophecy,' Gaius replied. 'It says that...' He hesitated, and then, translating what was written, he said: ' "Let loose the hounds of war. Let the dreadfire of the last priestess rain down from angry skies. For brother will slaughter brother, for friend will murder friend as the great horn sounds a cold dawn at Camlann... The prophets do not lie. There Arthur will meet his end, upon that mighty plain." '

'So it is true then,' said Merlin, who had gone deathly pale. 'Mordred will murder Arthur, and it will be at Camlann, wherever that –'

'I refuse to believe it!' I said, springing up; my hand swept forth involuntarily and knocked my cup from the table.

'Ganieda –' Merlin began.

'Ganieda, what –' said Gaius.

'It says _nothing_ about Mordred,' I cried. 'Friend will murder friend... that could mean anything. Why do you take it to mean Mordred?'

'I saw that vision,' said Merlin.

'That vision,' I repeated, mocking him. 'How can you believe that? You do not know if you can trust the man who showed it you, you said so yourself.'

'Ganieda –' Gaius broke in.

I ignored him. 'You still retain this hatred for Mordred, and it is unjustified, I tell you. Mordred is a good man!'

'I shall believe that when I see it!' cried Merlin, and stood in his turn; and he might have done something regrettable had the door not opened at that very moment.

We turned, our argument for the moment halted, and saw there a knight who carried a man in his arms. He set down the man on the floor, and from this I guessed that he was dead; Gaius bent to examine him.

'We have just found him –' the knight began, but could not go on.

Merlin and I both went forward to see what Gaius looked so intently at; and we both withdrew at the same moment in horror, for the man's face was inhuman, covered with so much skin that his features had been hidden. Yet beneath the growth there remained a look of the utmost terror, a look that will ever be imprinted on my mind.

'Good God,' I stammered.

'What's happened?' asked Merlin.

'It is the work of magic...' Gaius said, still staring at the man in horror. 'Powerful magic... horrible magic. Alas!' He retreated and stood, his face very grave. 'It can mean only one thing. Morgana has declared war on Camelot.'


	24. Things I Was Not Meant To Catch

Preparations for battle began to resound from every corner of Camelot, and filled it to such an extent that it was hard to believe that it had ever been free of the chink of whetstones on metal, the hammering of the blacksmith's anvil, the clash of swords in a duel on the field, the raised voices of command that rang out, the scurrying footsteps hurrying to obey orders. It was a scene of organised chaos, and I must admit that were it not for the underlying threat, it would have been rather beautiful: for Camelot had come together like never before, all in the city were allies, people helped one another regardless of their standing or of their previous relationships. Was this what war was like?

My friend Juliana, whom I had not seen very often lately, was deeply resentful of what went on around her, and complained vehemently, though only within the walls of her own quarters, for she could do nothing to influence the minds of the decision-makers. The refugees whom she had taken in she kept close to her; and she tried to imprint upon them her own views, which succeeded to an extent, for these were frightened children who knew nothing of war save that it was terrible; she had taught them music, and they made music, louder than ever before, as if they could drown out the sounds of war that fell all about them. I did not bother speaking to her on the matter. I knew I could not change her mind.

Merlin and I were still at loggerheads over Mordred, but we managed to keep it within us, for there could not be civil war whilst there was outside war. It is a strange thing that war does, to ally all within one side, but it is quite marvellous, in a bizarre sort of way. We were yet friends, we were siblings. We could not fight; it was futile. And Merlin aided Arthur in his preparations, a loyal and shrewd advisor; and I helped Gaius sometimes, sometimes Mordred, who had become distant in his thoughts, and rarely spoke, though he still made sure to show me that he loved me. All came together. As the storm built outside, within there was a frighteningly deceptive calm.

* * *

There were regular patrols, and so Merlin and Mordred were occupied nearly all of the time, and I saw them rarely except in the evenings. I was myself busy; and when I wasn't and was alone I practised my sword-work with an old dummy I had found discarded, making sure that nobody saw me, for I felt sure that they would scorn me, a girl, who wanted to fight and was surely entertaining a hopeless ambition.

Most of these patrols galloped back having seen nothing, and they emanated a palpable relief, which was understandable: but a lot of us wondered what they were missing, why Morgana did not yet attack. For the news of the declaration of war had spread throughout Camelot, and still refugees came into the city from time to time – far too many refugees: entire villages – but there had not been any deaths since that poor guard. That nothing was happening was in many ways terrifying. We existed in fear of a surprise attack, and could never release the tension that formed a dissatisfying backdrop.

The curtain had to fall, however, and it was not long before the gallops were more insistent, though not enough to signify an imminent danger. Merlin came up to our quarters later on, his work finished, saying something about Saxons killing another patrol; this he said almost nonchalantly, for Saxons, though perilous folk with whom to deal, were not half as worrying as the threat Morgana posed; but he then proceeded to hang up his jacket with a certain anger about him. It was only when he had turned and begun to take off his muddy boots that he realised that Gaius and I were staring at him.

'What's wrong?' I asked then.

'Mordred's wrong,' Merlin muttered in that voice that was so unlike him, but which I had heard far too often lately.

'Oh, for heaven's sake, Merlin –' I began.

Merlin put up his hand, cutting me off. 'Don't try to defend him. You weren't there; you didn't see –' But he did not finish his sentence, thinking better of it halfway through.

'What has happened?' asked Gaius.

'Mordred may or may not have helped – oh, forget it, it was probably nothing. But I still doubt his loyalty. He is growing distant from Arthur.'

'In what way?' I demanded.

'I can sense it,' said Merlin enigmatically. 'His intentions are not Arthur's, I just know it.'

'Oh, damn you,' I cursed him. 'Damn what you think.'

'Merlin, have you seen anything that you can be sure of?' asked Gaius then, ever rational.

Merlin hesitated, going to speak and then stopping himself, his lips quivering; then at last: 'No.'

'Then you must not entertain these thoughts. As far as we have seen and can be sure of, Mordred is fiercely loyal to the King and Camelot. I do not doubt it, nor does Ganieda or anyone else.'

Merlin said nothing, merely pacing to the door and throwing his satchel into our bedroom.

'Anyway, Merlin, I was just on my way to attend to a patient. I might need your help.'

At this Merlin sighed, and with a resigned air he followed Gaius, shooting a glance back at me that I do not believe I was supposed to catch.

* * *

And I installed myself in the bedroom, and tried to distract myself with my sewing; but just as I had sat down and threaded my needle I heard the door to the quarters open. I assumed it was Gaius or Merlin, returned for something they had forgotten, but as I listened I realised that the footsteps were more tentative, as if they did not mean to be heard.

At once I jumped up, and went to the door, which was ajar, and put my eye to the gap; and I was astonished to see Mordred there, inspecting the shelves with a quick, feverish eye. I pushed the door open; Mordred jumped, and at once put down a phial that he had lifted down, blushing furiously.

'What are you doing?' I asked.

'I...' Mordred stammered. 'Ganieda, I... you must not tell anyone. Today in the forest, on the patrol, we came by another patrol that had been killed, by – by Saxons, I imagine; and then I saw a figure run from the place, and I followed, and it was –' His eyes narrowed, and his mind seemed to fight with his tongue; then he said: 'It was a friend, a druid... She was injured. I need to find...' He swung his eyes back to the shelves. 'What is there to heal a wounded leg?'

I came over, moved by the emotion that seemed to make his whole self tremble. 'How serious is the wound? I believe Gaius uses...'

And I found him a couple of potions, common ones that Gaius would surely not miss, and that I would explain away if he did.

'Not very, thank heavens,' said Mordred with a shudder. 'Will these work? Are you sure of it?'

'Perfectly sure. Mordred –' I looked up into his face in curiosity. 'This druid, this girl –' this latter word left me tentatively, though I did not mean it to '– you must be good friends.'

'We have known each other since childhood.'

'It is lucky that it was you who found her,' I continued.

'Yes. Yes, I suppose it was. Arthur would have –' He choked a little, and could not go on.

'Luckier still,' I said with a wry smile, 'that you live in Camelot, home to the best physician in the land. Go, you had better hurry if you want to heal her. These potions are strong but must be used sooner rather than later.'

'Thank you,' he said, and kissed my forehead before hurrying from the room.

And when he was gone I stopped, and his words returned to me, and my mind picked out _her_ and _she_ and _girl_ and presented them to me, to be pondered at my own risk.


	25. A Crumbling Kingdom

'Are you still entirely sure of Mordred's loyalty?' Merlin asked me the following day, just before he went off to work.

'What do you mean?' I asked, my spoon hovering halfway to my mouth, my stomach beginning to sink.

'I caught him last night, trying to sneak out. He wanted to help a girl or someone. I let him, but... From what he said, I think the girl was the figure we saw running from the dead soldiers. I'll bet anything she killed them. Mordred said she was a druid. And if he's on her side...'

'Why would she have killed them?' I asked quickly.

Merlin raised one eyebrow. 'Arthur has made his peace with certain druids, but not all of them. I reckon there are a few out there still against him because of his views towards magic.'

'You cannot be sure of this,' I said. 'She could have been framed.'

'Well, yes,' said Merlin vaguely, pulling on his jacket and leaving before the argument swung more to my favour.

His words had stung me, and I could not deny that though neither of us had an argument with much weight, both had points to their favour. Why did Mordred guard this druid-girl? Why did he keep her secret, instead of proving to Arthur that she had done nothing wrong? Arthur did not hate the druids as his father had. Indeed, he had aided in rescuing Mordred from his father's clutches...

_He is afraid,_ I told myself very certainly. _He does not know how Arthur will react, and so keeps her from him until he knows she will be safe. And I imagine she was framed by someone wishing to turn Arthur against the druids once again, a supporter of his father perhaps. Arthur yet has enemies in the land who disapprove of his leniency towards the druids._

* * *

I convinced myself that this was true, therefore, and did not worry about the matter until later that day, when the King and Merlin rode back into Camelot with another in tow. I ran to meet them, to find out what was going on, and found them to have captured a girl, who was thrown into gaol whilst Arthur gathered his council.

I ran to Merlin, and asked him what had happened, and in a low voice he told me this:

'We were on the forest, and we came by footprints – I don't know whose footprints they were; Arthur took them to be the girl's, but I rather think they might have been Mordred's.' His eyes flashed a little. Was he mocking me? 'We followed them – we found the girl who has been thrown in the dungeons. Presumably Mordred's druid-girl. And Ganieda – _she tried to kill Arthur_.'

'She what?' I asked flatly.

'She tried to kill Arthur. With a dagger. I stopped her using magic, but –' Despite that he was shaking a little he managed to flash me something that was rather akin to – a smirk? 'Are you so sure of Mordred's loyalty now? If he is loyal to a girl who wants to kill Arthur?'

'Yes,' I said defiantly. 'He is still loyal to me.'

'Are you sure of that? Have you seen him since yesterday?'

'...No,' I said, feeling faint all of a sudden. 'But he _must_ be. He loves me. He wishes to marry me.' I was stammering, and I had to stop for a moment. 'Merlin – are you sure this is the same girl?'

'Perfectly sure,' said Merlin coldly. 'There are few druids about. It would be a remarkable coincidence.'

'I am going to find Mordred,' I said then, and stormed off, slightly in a daze. I did not have the least idea what all this could mean – nay, I did, I had an idea, and I did not like it, and I hoped to goodness it could not possibly be true.

* * *

'Mordred, what –'

He was startled at my entrance; he had not realised that his door had been ajar, and had not expected me to burst in on him. He sat up from where he had been lying on his bed; his hand went to his eye, and though it was out of my line of sight I could not deny that he was brushing a tear away – he stood and faced me, trying to smile, trying to look as if nothing was wrong.

'The girl that the King brought back to Camelot –'

He was silent.

'She is your friend. The one you took the potions to.'

Silence still. He stared at me, his eyes a little blurred, as if denying that he knew anything about anything.

'According to Merlin, she tried to kill the King.'

'Alas!' and his legs gave way, and he sat back down, lowering his head. 'So that is why she is arrested.'

'Yes. The King is calling his council for her trial as we speak. I imagine she will not get off lightly.'

'Alas,' Mordred murmured again; and I could tell from the way his voice cracked that he was trying desperately not to cry. His head fell onto his hands.

'She is your friend, and she tried to kill Arthur.' I presented the two facts to him, hoping for an answer that I could use to rebuke Merlin's argument; but Mordred did not try to explain it away, he merely said:

'I did not think she would do such a thing.'

'She is your friend; should you not know what her views are?'

'She is like a good deal of the druids – against Arthur, I mean,' he stammered. 'But most of the druids would not wish him dead, they merely wish to change his mind – Good Lord, Ganieda, this cannot be true. Is Merlin mistaken?'

'No,' I said very definitely. 'And he wishes you to reveal your loyalties, for he believes you to be a two-faced traitor.'

'I am loyal to Arthur,' Mordred said in a muffled voice.

'And to his would-be killer.'

He did not reply.

'Who is she to you, that even her attempt on Arthur's life would not break your friendship?' I asked suddenly. 'The King is your friend, one of your greatest friends, and yet –'

I broke off, and felt a cold sweat coat my palms. 'She is more than your friend. You more than like her. _You love her._'

'Go,' said Mordred then, not looking up. 'Go from here. I need to think. Go.'

I stared at him for a few moments more, and felt as if I was watching a kingdom crumble. And then, for I feared his powers when he was taken by such deep emotion as this, I obeyed his order and left the room, wondering what on Earth had happened, what would happen, whether my life would ever be quite the same again.


	26. Kara

'Merlin, he loves her.'

My brother turned to me, narrowing his eyes, still half in the book he was reading. 'What?'

'Mordred loves her. That druid-girl.'

'I thought as much,' said Merlin indifferently, and went back to his book.

'Merlin!'

He started. 'What?'

'Don't you understand? Don't you care? Mordred loves her! What if he abandons me for her?'

I saw a hundred expressions fight for place on his face; he did not reply.

And so I voiced what so troubled me: 'As long as he loves me, he's on our side, Merlin, don't you see? But now he's – now he's found her, and he loves her, and if Arthur – if Arthur does anything to her, he'll – Merlin, this could be the beginning of the end!'

His lower lip trembled, and he was silent for a long while. He didn't like me loving Mordred. He saw my argument; but he could never admit that Mordred was better off with me. Did he agree with me? – perhaps...

'But what can we do?' he asked in despair. 'Love is not a force we can reckon with. I know that much.'

His brow furrowed as he spoke; perhaps he thought of my own stubbornness about Mordred. We had arrived at the point that I had so hoped never to see: when I saw very clearly Merlin's argument. I knew Mordred. I knew that if Arthur did anything to the girl then it could very easily upset Mordred's fragile equilibrium.

'Does Mordred still love you?'

Merlin dog-eared his book, which he had been staring at for some time now, and placed it quietly on the table, facing me for the first time.

'I hope so,' was the only response I could give.

'Then there is still hope.' It pained him to say it, but I knew that he was trying desperately to accept that which he had for so long spurned: the love that existed between me and the man who Merlin claimed would kill Arthur. And that prophecy now seemed far more real, and terrifyingly so. 'We have to stop –' His voice caught in his throat. 'Good God, our only hope is to stop Arthur doing anything to that girl, but –'

'But...?'

'But we can't just let her go free. Not if she's intent on killing him.'

Our eyes met; we shared in the perplexity of the puzzle. It seemed that someone was going to have to make a momentous decision, and one false move could be the downfall of the King and Camelot.

* * *

I could not find Mordred. I went to his quarters, and he was not there; I searched the castle, and asked all I could find if they knew of his whereabouts; nobody had seen him. And when at last I was returning, feeling more helpless than ever, I came by the Queen, and, bowing before her, asked of her if she knew where Mordred might be; she said that she did not know, but that his hiding away might be to do with the King's recent decision to execute the girl.

'Execute her!' I said in something akin to shock, though I tried not to show it, for I did not want to appear on her side.

'For her attempt on Arthur's life, and for her further threats during her trial,' the Queen explained.

'But she –' I caught myself. 'But _Mordred_ –'

And here the Queen gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth in shock. 'Good Lord – Ganieda, are you – did you know about –?'

'Mordred being in love with her?' I said dully. 'Of course I knew.'

'They are in love?' asked the Queen. 'Then that would explain... Oh, Good Lord, no wonder... I knew he was firmly on her side, but...'

Then, spontaneously, she swept me up in an embrace, one that near smothered me in the folds of her dress, as if trying to stop me from escaping – what? Her, Camelot, loyalty to the Crown and to the Kingdom? It expressed without words what she could never have said; she comprehended with a glance all that I was thinking, struck by such a hammer-blow as this; and I knew that she too wished for Mordred to remain on our side, for he had been a good knight, and fiercely loyal, and most of all a friend to a good many in Camelot, including the Queen herself. Yet now, in mere moments, all of that threatened to have changed, and we did not know where we stood.

'What if... we don't execute her?' I asked tentatively, once I had retreated from the embrace.

She stared at me. 'What?'

'Don't we risk Mordred's loyalty in doing so?' I said, voicing what Merlin and I had discussed. 'If the King were to harm the girl, I am certain he would turn against him.' It pained me to say it but I knew that it was true. If he loved the girl like he had loved me, then it was very much true.

'We know that this girl is an enemy, however,' the Queen said, 'and the rules of the city dictate what punishment she must receive for her actions. I do not believe it would be wise to make an exception.'

I did not reply, for I could not argue against the monarchs; but inside I was almost boiling with the thoughts that emerged at this statement, with plans that I could develop with Merlin's help for avoiding what I saw to be a sure consequence of the execution.

* * *

I had not found Mordred, and so determined that he did not wish to be seen – for surely he would have been struck immensely by news of the punishment to be dealt. I did not know if I felt sorry for him or not. I did not know what I felt for him anymore. Would be betray Camelot? – Perhaps. Would he betray me?...

Therefore I meandered back to Gaius's quarters, and there found Merlin, who was, as usual, sitting reading.

'I presume you've heard about the results of Kara's trial?' he asked.

I acknowledged this with a half-hearted nod. 'Is that her name? Kara?'

'I believe so.'

'Damn Kara.' I sat down heavily. 'The Queen is certain that the rules cannot be changed. This Kara is to be executed, and Mordred will turn against the King, and against me, and –'

I broke off in frustrated tears, and Merlin, to my surprise, came over and put his arms around my shoulders, a little awkwardly, but warmly. 'I'll find a way to stop it. I'll persuade Arthur. I'll –' He paused. 'I don't know how I'll do it. But I will. I always find a way,' and he smiled without a hint of humour. 'This cannot be the time I fail. Not now.'

'You'll bring Mordred back?' I asked. 'You'll save him from falling into darkness...'

'I have to,' said Merlin simply. Then, softly: 'Are we friends again, Ganieda?'

'Are we –?'

'We have argued so much about Mordred and you. It has been unpleasant. But whilst Mordred was with you, and nobody else, there was no question of his loyalty. I can see that now. I'm sorry I ever spoke against him –' His voice cracked a little, more out of shame for being wrong than anything else. 'But now we aim for the same goal. We must be friends.' He paused, his face still over my shoulder so that I could not see what emotions and thoughts passed over it. 'And if Mordred... if Mordred betrays us...'

I longed to say _He wouldn't!_ here, but alas! I knew that it was a very real possibility. 'If he betrays us, I shall need you more than ever,' I finished, and hugged him tighter.


	27. The Force of Destiny

The city had been bustling with refugees, but scouts had been sent out to monitor the situation in those villages that had been ravaged, and it was determined that it would be safe for a good many people to return. The King did not believe that Morgana would visit the same place twice. It would not be worth her time. Therefore the refugees began to leave, shuddering at the thought of finding their villages half-destroyed, but also glad to be going home, and not having to seek sanctuary in a strange city; and the King allowed them a good deal of funds for help with rebuilding.

My own village was one of those called safe, and so my stepmother decided to go back, for she wished to help with whatever she could. And she asked me if I too would return, but then went back on her words, remembering that I was to marry Mordred: and I recalled that she had not heard about the current situation, and so I explained the situation shortly and without emotion.

She was of course shocked; she said that she would talk to Mordred, but I knew that there was nothing she could say, and anyway, Mordred had not reappeared.

'You must go back to the village, help rebuild it,' I said to her. 'I shall perhaps return soon. There will be little left for me in Camelot if Mordred –' I paused. 'But at present Merlin at least needs me.'

She nodded sadly, and that very day left the city with the other villagers, after we had exchanged a tearful goodbye, but with the hope of seeing each other again soon.

Or at least, she hoped to see me again soon. She of course knew that Camelot was at war with Morgana, and that battle was imminent, but she did not suspect that I wished to fight, and I did not wish to tell her. I wondered if I would in fact see her again...

When she had left I felt as if there was something missing, and began to regret not going back with her; but I knew that Merlin and Camelot and Mordred needed me, and so tried not to think on it.

* * *

That very evening Mordred reappeared – he had been in Camelot, but he would not say where – and I met him in the corridor, which he did not expect, and nor did I, and so the meeting was at first cold and distasteful.

'Where are you going?' I asked at once.

'To find Arthur,' Mordred replied curtly, and tried to push past me.

'What! to persuade him to release Kara?' I guessed.

He did not reply, but I knew I was right.

'She will destroy the King and Camelot if she goes free,' I said. 'Can you not see that? She is not on our side.'

'I know.'

This abrupt response astonished me. He sounded resigned, but at the same time didn't seem to care very much about the consequences. How strong was his love for this girl? – stronger than I had even suspected.

'You love her that greatly?' I challenged him. 'So greatly that you do not care for your friends in Camelot, and wish only –'

'She does not deserve to be executed,' Mordred said mechanically, trying to hide the tears that sprang from his eyes.

'She tried to kill the King!' I cried. 'I thought the King was one of your greatest friends? And your loyalty greater than any other force that acts within you?'

'There is loyalty,' said Mordred, 'and then there is – love.'

He looked dazed, as if he himself did not quite comprehend the situation; perhaps he wished that Kara had never entered the equation; perhaps he regretted what he would have to do – I almost felt sorry for him, but that he had utterly betrayed me.

'I wish you had loved me as much as you love her,' I said spitefully, and ran so that I wouldn't do something regrettable.

* * *

'I do not know what to do, nor what to think,' I admitted to Merlin and Gaius when I returned, deeply saddened and confused by the events, and wishing that this was all some horrible dream. 'I do not believe Mordred will abandon Kara, but I do not know if he would abandon me.'

'Do you still love him?' Merlin asked me, in a completely open voice, not scorning me at all.

'Yes,' I said. 'No. – I don't know. I love the Mordred that still loves me, but I don't believe –'

'I am sure part of him still does,' Gaius reassured me.

'But I don't want to love _this_ Mordred, this Mordred who loves Kara more than he ever loved me, and who has betrayed me, and who will betray Camelot.'

'You cannot be sure of that,' Gaius said.

Merlin and I just exchanged hopeless glances. We were almost ready to give up. There had to be some other way of stopping the prophecy from coming true, regardless of whether Mordred was on our side or not – hadn't there?

'Where is Mordred, anyway?' asked Merlin.

'Gone to find the King, to try and persuade him to release Kara,' I sighed.

Merlin sprang up. 'But Arthur will surely refuse,' he said. 'And then Mordred – I'm going to find Arthur, see what's going on.'

With that he left the room, and Gaius and I looked slightly bewildered. What did Merlin think Mordred would do? – help Kara escape? – perhaps...

And what would be the consequences of that? None of us could begin to guess, or at the least, we did not wish to think about them.

* * *

Merlin returned shortly afterwards, and declared that the King had refused Mordred's plea, as he had expected; and he said that he believed that Mordred would help Kara escape.

'Then what must we do?' I asked.

'Tell Arthur,' Merlin said at once. 'All is well as long as she is imprisoned but unharmed, but we cannot let her go free. And if Mordred runs off with her, then who knows what might happen?'

'Then tell him,' I cried.

'I cannot,' replied Merlin, 'not until I am sure he will help her; then I shall.'

'And then...'

'And then Mordred will presumably be arrested too,' Merlin said, 'and who knows what punishment will be his?'

'He won't be executed,' I said at once, 'not for merely helping her.'

'But for helping her, and betraying Camelot and Arthur's trust...' Merlin said. 'No, he won't be executed, but I can't imagine it will be pleasant. Perhaps he would be exiled.' He looked to me then, as if to gauge my reaction; I managed to remain composed.

'He has betrayed me,' said I, 'or at least, I believe he is going to betray me. I do not believe I could forgive him for that. I wouldn't be able to face him, at the least.'

Merlin sat and put his head in his hands, rubbing his forehead. 'We shouldn't talk about the future like this, like it's set in stone,' he said. 'I don't want to think that things _must_ happen as people say they will...' And by this I knew we had returned to the prophecy, and I at last understood his fear of the terrible force of destiny.


	28. No Mercy

And Merlin went from the room, determined to set the future in motion; he had between his hands a volatile power, and did not wish to make a mistake, lest that mistake be the downfall of the King and Camelot. Yet there were many uncertain elements in the matter, for even I did not know Mordred well enough to guess what he would do next – he was changed, greatly changed, and I knew by that that he was not the man who had entered Camelot with a heart filled with loyalty and sparkling eyes brimming with optimism for his service as a knight. I felt as though I had lost him already.

* * *

Merlin had not returned by nightfall, and as the curfew began to settle over the city the night was torn apart by the deep, ominous ringing of bells. There was shouting and running in the street below; I looked from the window to see a cohort of knights rushing down the main street and out of the gate. Merlin was with them: he was the only one who did not sport a flowing red cloak; and he was at the head, beside the King, his pace urgent and his head bowed.

Gaius joined me at the window then, and we studied the scene with bated breath; the men left the city, and headed forth into the darkness beyond.

'What does this mean?' I pondered at length, my hands shaking with my voice.

'Mordred has presumably freed Kara,' replied Gaius.

'But has he gone with her, or is he yet in Camelot?' I said. But even as I said it, I leant towards the former. He would not stay in Camelot, not when he knew they would suspect him of freeing Kara, not when he knew he would be confronted by those who had once been his friends. And when this thought clambered to the fore of my mind, I knew that he had utterly betrayed me, and that I would never forgive him.

* * *

My heart was now Merlin's, and my loyalty to Arthur above all others; I awaited their return with that dark eagerness that came with the fear that so afflicted me. The night was too quiet; Gaius returned to bed, but I stayed up in my room, watching from the window, my breath sending out shuddering spirals into the cold night air; and I was from time to time stricken by a small panic that I could not quite explain.

But return they did, and I imagine that they woke the city with their thundering galloping, that clattering gait that brings with it news of a grim success. And though I was dressed in but a nightgown, I ran through the castle, and swept Merlin into my arms when I caught sight of him, and asked what had happened.

'Mordred ran off with Kara once he had freed her,' Merlin said breathlessly, his face haggard. I took his arm and swung him to our quarters, for Arthur no longer required his service, and he looked like he could do with a hot drink and some rest.

'I thought as much,' I said.

'We pursued them to the forest; we were just in time –' He paused, as if he could not quite recall the flurry of events that must surely have taken place. 'Kara meant to kill the men. I heard her urging Mordred with her mind. God, she was so ruthless... But Mordred hesitated. He looked as if he might perform magic, but he was slow to summon it, and gave us enough time to overpower him. Percival knocked him out, and made sure he didn't awake on the journey home. And we subdued Kara as well, and they're both now in prison.'

We had then reached the quarters, and Merlin offered more of a sigh than a greeting to Gaius before going to our room and collapsing on his bed.

'And now what?' I asked, once I had prepared him a small mug of hot ale.

'Kara is to be executed. Mordred's punishment is undecided. It is exactly as I thought.'

'We mustn't let the King execute Kara,' I said at once.

'I will try to persuade him,' Merlin said, and finished his drink; and then he sat back and fell asleep.

* * *

Merlin's suggestion was accepted, and Kara brought before the court in the morning. She was the only one present who did not look in the least haggard: her eyes glinted with some malicious intent, and her mouth was set in a grim smile. She was pretty, I couldn't help but notice, but that prettiness was spoiled a good deal by her expression.

Mordred was still imprisoned then, which was perhaps for the best; but the rest of the knights were there, and the King sat in his throne with something of a resigned air, his hand going to clasp that of the Queen, who sat beside him, but then retreating.

When all had fallen silent, he addressed Kara thus:

'My decision – and I go by the laws of Camelot in deciding this – is that your punishment should be execution. My men are preparing a gallows as we speak: you are to be hanged. Or rather, you are to be hanged, if you do not now repent of your crimes. If you repent, I shall let you go free.'

A murmur ran round the hall: a good deal of the people were much surprised by this new proposition. Kara's face however did not change in the slightest, except for a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth.

There was a terrible silence then, and though it lasted but seconds, it felt like hours, and spoke volumes. Then, at last, giving the answer she had meant to all along, Kara said:

'I cannot repent of a crime I have not committed.'

Her recklessness was profound, and surprised everyone more than Arthur's words. Even the King was a little disturbed by this statement, but kept his composure enough to sentence her:

'Then I cannot go back on my decision. You will be hanged to-day in the square, at noon. Guards, return her to her cell.'

* * *

Merlin and I did not attend the hanging, but we could hardly disagree with the procedures: and nor did we, for we knew that King Arthur had done his utmost to give her just treatment, and that she therefore deserved this punishment. Perhaps, had I not known the implications, I might have favoured it as beneficial to the security of the kingdom; but I was unsure, of course, for I did not know what would become of Mordred following the execution.

I found myself wondering, far too optimistically perhaps, if, after Kara's death, Mordred might see sense and return to Camelot's side – to me. I could not have been more wrong: but I could only hope, being in such a state as I was then.

We heard even from the quarters the scraping as the box was removed, the gasps of the crowd – and then, very quickly, it was over. The noon-bell tolled into the silence that fell like a cloak over Camelot. It seemed the city had fallen still with the force of Kara's last struggling breath.

At very great length Merlin stood, and in a mutter said: 'I wonder if Mordred has heard what we have?'

* * *

He had indeed heard.

Merlin and I went to the Great Hall afterwards, for Merlin was going to see if the King needed him, and I followed, for I no longer felt safe nor sane out of the presence of family; and coming at our heels was one of the prison-guards.

The flustered man rushed past us to kneel at the King's feet. 'Sire! Oh! sire! He's vanished!'

'Who has?' asked Arthur urgently.

'The man Mordred, sire,' the guard said.

'Escaped, you mean?' the King asked, fury tingeing his words.

'No, sire,' the guard persisted, sounding terrified, 'he vanished!'

Merlin and I exchanged worried glances.

At that point the Queen came to the poor man's rescue. 'Calm down, and start from the beginning.'

'Sire, I was watching the prisoners – not shirking, you understand – and it was just a minute ago, when you were outside. Mordred had been silent all morning; then, suddenly, sire, he flew into some sort of rage. His eyes burned, and he yelled something – I don't know what, sire: it was in a different language. Then he vanished. Just like that!' He snapped his trembling fingers.

'So it is true then,' Arthur said at last. 'He is far more powerful than we ever thought.'

'He has magic, sire,' the guard said unnecessarily.

'He has joined Morgana. I know it.' King Arthur then addressed Sir Leon. 'Prepare our forces. We shall attack Morgana and Mordred within the week. And we shall show no mercy.'


	29. Camelot Prepares

I had believed Camelot to be busy with preparations before; but that had been nothing compared to what we now saw. We no longer anticipated a siege, but a true battle, attack rather than defence; and we hoped therefore to have the upper hand. We knew that Morgana's army consisted of barbarians, uncivilised people of the north; the only people we truly had to fear, therefore, were Morgana and Mordred, but two magicians against one was not a reassuring prospect.

Not that I doubted Merlin's ability. He was, after all, the greatest magician who ever lived; I had seen snippets of his powers, and knew them to be far more extraordinary even than Mordred's. And within my brother's thin frame there resided a hardy and resilient spirit: he would not give up, he would fall only when he was utterly spent, and no matter what happened, he would serve Camelot, right until the very end. Though the King did not realise it, he was our greatest warrior, and perhaps our only hope. Gaius and I retained a good deal of optimism because of this; Merlin seemed less certain of his importance, but we reassured him that with him on our side, we could not fail.

Were we too optimistic? – perhaps. But it was as well to be optimistic in those times, when a dark shadow yet threatened Camelot, and when the people would have been completely discouraged if not for the cheeriness that remained in the hearts of a good deal.

* * *

The preparations were on an immense scale: a couple of war-engines were constructed, should we need to attack an outpost, and these great trebuchets were the marvel of the city, and people went out of their way to see the carpenters and blacksmiths working what almost appeared as magic to create the giant machines. The knights spent almost every waking hour on the practice-field duelling, or in the armoury selecting weapons and deciding what we needed more of, or training the horses. The seamstresses of the castle took up coloured fabrics and began to make glorious flags and banners and insignias to decorate the army: though this seemed an elaborate and unnecessary gesture, we knew that the colour streaming from our forces would rejuvenate the knights' spirit and perhaps discourage our brown-clad enemies; and at the least, one must go to battle proud to be part of the army that one serves. Red and gold soon filled the place, and the feeling of patriotism that this created was overwhelming.

I too joined in with the sewing, and made what I deemed to be quite a reasonable banner and a couple of tunics; but when I could I practised fighting, and Merlin taught me what he knew, for though he was a terribly maladroit swordsman he knew a good deal of technique from watching his master. He did not like the idea of me going to battle, but he knew that I would at least go with the army, with Gaius, who would come in his facility as physician, and that being there meant that I risked having to fight to save myself, if nobody else.

There were people among the folk of Camelot who were not knights but who offered their service to the King; the King was much moved, and accepted their allegiance, and instructed the knights to train them. Those who were not adept enough would be left in the city, for he did not wish to endanger the lives of those who could not defend themselves properly. But he quickly recruited a good strong peasant army, from those of the city and from those who lived in the surrounding farms. Our army would be great in number; I doubted that Morgana had enough loyalty among those peoples she had terrorised to gather an army half the size of ours. Camelot was still strong despite all that had happened whilst I was there. We had the strength and the loyalty that we needed to win. Now we merely needed Fortune to be in our favour.

* * *

There was but one quiet corner of the castle during this time, and that was Juliana's quarters. I realised that in all this bustle we had hardly spoken, and so weaved my way through the knights and servants who piled down the corridors, and into her room, where she sat plucking her harp, whilst the two orphan children who had remained with her accompanied her on the flute. She did not notice me until the children stopped and looked up at me; she opened her eyes at length, and studied me with something akin to distaste, for I was muddy from my sword-fighting practice, and I wore a dagger at my belt that I now insisted on having with me at all times. Juliana was however unarmed, and wore a simple dress that was untouched by the chaos that flowed through Camelot, and the children were similarly unruffled.

'Have I introduced you to my protégés?' she asked softly, ignoring whatever greeting had been about to leave me. 'This is Alice –' she indicated a sandy-haired girl who could not have been more than eight years old '– and this is Hugh.' She pointed to the boy, who was little older than Alice, and only her height. 'They are splendid musicians already.'

'No doubt; no doubt,' I said, trying not to sound impatient. 'I heard them just now.'

'I am glad there are others with me,' said Juliana, 'otherwise I would not have been able to play above all this awful clanking.'

'The preparations for battle, you mean?' I asked stiffly.

'But of course. Alas that the King should be so warlike!'

'He is not warlike,' I countered at once. 'He does not wish for war, but it has become inevitable, so that we might guarantee the security of Camelot. With this battle shall the war be ended, and it will bring eternal peace to the land.'

Juliana did not reply, but I could see that she was indignant at this outburst.

'I came only to say that I am going with them, and –'

'You are going to war?'

The plea, the dimming of those sparkling eyes, the soft sadness of Juliana's voice nearly made me think twice about leaving; but I had made up my mind, and I had decided long ago that Juliana of all people would not sway me.

'Yes. Yes, I am. But so is Gaius: one does not go to war merely as a fighter, but as a helper.'

'So you are not fighting.'

'No,' I lied, covering up the intentions that I had tried to hide from the majority. 'I am going to do what I can to make sure the men win.'

She looked dissatisfied still, and sat down at her harp, playing a fragment of the song she had composed about battle. The disconnected notes hovered in the air for a moment, and then were whisked away, dissolving into nothing. Her eyes swooped downwards.

'You won't be coming, I imagine,' I said, trying not to sound scornful.

'I cannot help men die,' she said simply.

'And you will tell these children that the men are going to die unnecessarily?' I continued, angry now at her refusal even to help.

'I have already told them,' she said softly.

'Juliana –'

I could not argue with her. She was so very stubborn for one so calm and composed. 'Very well. I know I cannot change your mind. The battle will be in but days, whenever we are prepared; I shall be going then, with Gaius.'

'I will come and send you off,' she murmured, not meeting my eyes; and I took the tone of her voice then as my signal to leave.


	30. The Ultimate Betrayal

Though it was the edge of summer the air that swirled through Camelot was cold, and there were ever grey clouds on the horizon. Some said that this meant that fate did not shine on our coming battle, but this was countered with the observation that the same clouds lowered over Morgana's army – indeed reports said that it was still snowing in her northern territories, and that the fortress at Izmir yet resided beneath an icy cloak. Some said that it was mere chance, that it was one of those summers. And others still believed it to be Morgana's doing: a discouragement. This last theory was the most popular, but the pessimism was quashed by the King's motivational speech and actions: we would not let something so simple as bad weather quell our spirits.

The humidity built up, and soon each night was torn apart by early storms, and the battering of rain on the windows and the rooftops. Yet still we worked late, and ever returned after the curfew that no longer truly existed, save to keep outsiders from entering. I had come to the quarters late, and was about to ask Gaius what there was for dinner when I noticed that he was slumped in his chair.

There was a red mark above his brow, and as I shook him he opened his eyes and stared at me in something of a daze.

'What happened?' I cried; 'did you bang your head?'

'I don't...' Gaius blinked. 'There was a man in the quarters... Ganieda, there was an intruder, quickly, he might still be here...'

'I don't think –' I replied. 'What, did he injure you?'

'I saw him so he knocked me out.' Gaius stood uncertainly and looked around. 'No, you're right. Perhaps he's taken something.' And he set about studying his shelves, his gaze flashing to the most valuable items he had. I ran to the bedroom and first unbolted the loose floorboard, but found Merlin's book of magic to be intact; I glanced to the desk, but there was nothing missing –

Just then Merlin came in, with Gaius throwing a few words of explanation in his direction. He greeted me tiredly and was about to flop down on his bed when he gave a shriek of terror.

I span round, and then saw what it was that so frightened him: a creature, shadowy in the semi-darkness, that had emerged from beneath the bed; time froze for a moment, whilst man and creature stared at each other; then it went for my brother, and I went for my sword.

The thing was quick, and darted to and fro, avoiding Merlin's clutches and my sword-blows; then it jumped towards Merlin, and landed on his face; and my brother's frantic yells brought Gaius running. The old physician surprised us both by dashing in with a spade and, when he had seen the danger, whacking the ungodly creature until it fell lifeless to the ground.

And Merlin, shaking rather more than from just shock, stared unfocusedly at the thing that lay on the ground, before closing his eyes and joining it.

* * *

We lifted Merlin onto the bed in the main room, and Gaius brought the creature through, wrapped in a sack, for he believed its very touch to be dangerous.

'Is it dead?' I asked quickly.

'I very much hope so,' murmured Gaius. He dropped the sack on the table and then went to Merlin.

'What has happened to Merlin?' I asked then, running to help. 'Do you need anything?'

Gaius ran his trained eye over the boy, and felt his pulse and his forehead, and at last said, 'He appears merely to have been terrified out of his wits. I can only hope that that is the only problem, because unless he wakes it will be difficult to determine otherwise.'

'That _thing_ didn't do anything to him?'

'It would appear not, though...' He paused. 'Of course, it could be magic, meaning that we are rather out of my realm.'

I nodded worriedly. The physician had before revealed to me that he could do a certain amount of magic, but that he was no master of the ancient art, and that Merlin was usually indispensable in solving any problem that involved it.

'But what _was_ that thing?' I asked then.

Gaius lit another lamp and studied the creature. In the light it was less of an animal, more of a misshapen lump; it hardly looked as though it could have been alive.

'I don't know,' he replied at length. 'Ganieda, could you fetch some water? I rather think Merlin might need some when he wakes.'

* * *

I came back with the required water, and found Merlin to be awake and conversing in slightly unsteady tones with Gaius. I gave the water to Gaius, and ran to Merlin's side; when I clasped his hand I found it to be clammy, but warm.

'Are you all right?' I whispered (for my voice I now found to be weak both from shock and from relief at finding him alive).

'I think so,' replied Merlin. 'I feel mostly all right...'

'Oh, thank _heavens_,' I murmured; and, as my tiredness caught up with me, my head fell onto his blankets. I felt him stroke my hair vaguely.

There was a tap as Gaius set down a cup of water on Merlin's bedside table, and then he went to locate a book to see if he could determine what the creature might be; I heard Merlin shuffle a little, and then he murmured some enchantment. I chuckled a little, because I believed him to be summoning the cup of water, which was just out of his reach.

Then a grunt of confusion. The enchantment again. A noise that signified horror.

I at once sprang up. 'What is it?' Gaius too turned from the balcony, staring down at Merlin in concern.

'My magic...' Merlin said. 'I can't do magic...'

Both of us furrowed our brows.

Therefore Merlin, very deliberately, stretched out his arm towards the cup, and he muttered that same spell; nothing happened. His fingers then pointed to the blankets at the far end of his bed, and he tried to cast some other enchantment; still nothing. The glow that usually came to his eyes did not spark there, indeed his eyes seemed far duller than usual.

'That creature...' I said hoarsely.

'It has taken your magic,' Gaius said to Merlin.

'But... what? Was it sent to –?' He did not need a response. The creature had specifically attacked him – I had entered the room before him. And in all this tumult it had not quite occurred to us that Mordred knew of Merlin's magic.

'Mordred must have told Morgana about your magic,' said Gaius simply.

'Alas!' I cried. 'And, Merlin – _Mordred knows that you are Emrys_!'

These words had not before now been voiced, but we had already acknowledged this terrifying point, about which we could do nothing. Had Mordred committed the ultimate betrayal – to tell Morgana exactly who it was who was destined to kill her?

'Then her insatiable thirst for news of Emrys is fulfilled,' said Gaius. 'She knows where you are, and she believes that with this act she has defeated the one enemy she needed to fear.'

'She _believes_ she has?' cried Merlin. 'She _has_ defeated me, Gaius! I am nothing without my magic. You've seen my fighting skills. I can't defeat her like this.'

'Merlin!' I exclaimed, but I could not continue. I knew full well that Merlin might not be able to survive a battle against a swordsman without magic, much less Morgana and Mordred.

'No, she _believes_ she has defeated you,' Gaius reiterated. 'Because we are not going to give up now. There must be some way to reverse whatever it is this creature has done. Evidently the effects do not wear off with the creature's death, but there will be another way. I shall find one.'

'And I shall help,' I said, running to the bookshelves.

'That makes three of us,' said Merlin.

And though it was now deep night, and a terrible thing had occurred, and we should have felt utterly hopeless, we retained some faith – faith in Merlin, faith in Camelot, and, greatest of all, faith in books. This could not be the first and final blow of the battle. We would win, whatever it took. And if it took all the books in Gaius's quarters, then we would read our way to victory.


	31. The First Attack

Perhaps we could have spent the rest of the days before the battle reading; but present matters soon took over our attention, for first of all one of our outposts was attacked, and the men sent out; when they returned, it was with a terrible number of casualties, both of knights and of civilians. Gaius remarked as they came through the gate that it seemed that there had been few deaths: Morgana wished to torture and to weaken us, rather than to give us an easy way out. Her powers and her sadism terrified the people of the castle, but this fear was kept bottled up, for there was a good amount of work to be done.

Merlin and I remained at Gaius's side, for he needed as much help as he could get; even the King was to be seen around the makeshift infirmary, dealing out comforting words, or speaking with the wounded knights, or even, on occasion, fetching water when our hands were full.

The injuries dealt were awful: few had been inflicted directly by magic, Gaius noted, but he believed that only magic could have caused such chaos. The report of the attack was shaky and came to us in snippets; from what we could gather Morgana and Mordred had both at points been sighted, but there had been few with them.

By mid-morning – the attack had been overnight, and had taken everyone entirely by surprise – the infirmary was full, and it was said then that all of the casualties were here; a few survivors had been sent to the Great Hall, and those who had perished (a small proportion, but a large number) were buried outside of Camelot, for it was too dangerous to return to inter them in their home town. Gaius was not the only physician in the castle, but he was certainly the best, and a handful of lesser men took their orders from him at this time. Those uninjured soon turned up to offer help, and soon the place was bustling, though it never seemed that we had quite enough people. The room was filled with the stench of blood and sweat and other, more unidentifiable odours: the smells of battle. This heady atmosphere made me feel quite ill, but I did not falter.

And the injuries dealt were equally nauseating: there had been a fireball land in the outpost, and it had torn apart a good deal of the buildings, which were mostly of straw and daub, and though most had managed to escape, it was at the cost of receiving the most horrific burns, to their hands as they clasped at their relatives or their possessions, to their legs as they fled the roaring inferno, to their faces as they looked up into the face of what ought to have been their death. Indeed, burns were the most common of the injuries, though sword-blows had been dealt as well, and we feared that we could not save everyone.

'There are not enough to help,' I said in a low voice to Gaius, as we moved between patients.

'There are not enough people in the whole of Camelot to help with this,' replied Gaius in a hopeless voice. We had resolved to deal with the most critically wounded first, but even those were overwhelming us.

We tried our best to hold such pessimistic conversations in whispers, but it was becoming ever more difficult above the noise of the screams, the cries, the involuntary whimpers of pain that fell from scorched mouths, the shouts – I did not wish to remember this noise afterwards, but I could not block it from my mind. This, this was the sound of the wreck of battle. And it was a terrible thing. Perhaps Juliana was right after all...

Then Merlin came alongside us, and said in an annoyed whisper: 'I wish I could do something.'

'You are being of great help,' replied Gaius, a little confused.

'But if I could use my magic...' Merlin said, and we had to leave the conversation at that, because there was nothing we could do about this problem that weighed over us, but which we had to try and leave for the moment, despite that it was, ultimately, the most terrible that Camelot faced.

* * *

At length the King called for silence in the infirmary, and announced that he wished to call a meeting of those men who sat at the Round Table: therefore some of the knights stood, and also Gaius and Merlin, who had been chosen for this prestigious group a long while ago owing to their loyalty to Camelot at one of its darkest hours. I was not among their number, and so I remained in the infirmary to try to continue what Gaius had begun – for he had barely begun, it seemed, as I looked over the room that yet stank of war, that was yet filled with those terrible sounds that would haunt me long after they had stopped.

In the absence of a good deal of our helpers, I was truly overwhelmed, though I tried my utmost to attend to as many people as possible. I dealt out kind words, as the King had, though I rather feared that the word of a young woman was nothing compared to Arthur's, for he was a strong and brave leader, and Camelot's symbol of boldness and might. I asked tentative questions about what had happened; and I was confident enough at least to ask what had been heard or seen of Mordred.

One young man, whilst I was binding his arm, said that he had been in the watch-tower when the two magicians had approached: 'The man – I presume this Mordred is the dark-haired man who stood at Morgana's side?'

I merely nodded.

'He assisted in her magic, I believe. It was they who cast the fireball into our town. That was the only magic they cast... But it did a lot of harm.' His haggard eyes travelled around the room, taking in the horrid scene there. 'The roofs caught quickly. I do not think any building but the walls will have survived.'

'But what became of Mordred and Morgana?' I asked then, a little desperately.

'I saw them smile...'

'Both of them?'

'Yes. It was a horrible smile. They looked immensely pleased. They watched as the flames rose above the walls... then they turned and just walked away.'

'Both of them?'

'Of course both of them. I thought Mordred was Morgana's right-hand man?' The man was watching me curiously and so I did not continue.

Light-headed, I stood, and left him; I knew in my heart that I had lost Mordred to the Enemy, but I was horrified to hear it stated so matter-of-factly... How could he have turned so quickly, how could his heart have blackened to such an extent? His love for Kara must have transcended anything that I could hope to comprehend.

I hated him, of course. I hated him for all that he had done to me, to Camelot. But still I wished that this was not so; I wanted him back. Didn't we all? We had so celebrated him being on our side; he had been one of our most loyal, and nobody had ever doubted that this was a true gesture; and yet in a single blow all of this had been destroyed.

But he was an enemy now, and I had to think of him as such. Indeed I did. And I did not feel too lonely, because I had Merlin; but my brother was at that point lower than he had ever been, bereft of the one thing he believed made him any use to anyone. I had tried to persuade him otherwise; I think he understood, but he could not shake off that one thought that he was the only one who could have saved Camelot and Arthur, and that now we were doomed to fail.

* * *

I was somewhat dismal as I made my way back to the quarters that afternoon, but I was greeted by the most bizarre sight: that of Gaius and Merlin bending over a book with smiles beginning to spread across their faces. They looked up at my entrance, and then Merlin let out a clear laugh like a church-bell.

'We've found it, Ganieda,' he said, beaming.

'What?' I asked, hardly daring to believe that –

'How I can get my magic back. We found the creature. Look.' And he indicated a sketch of the very creature that still lay within the blanket on the table. 'Apparently I just need to go to the Crystal Cave, and –'

'Where's the Crystal Cave?' I asked.

'Near the White Mountains, not far from the Valley of the Fallen Kings,' Gaius explained.

'Then we are saved!' I cried in the most immense relief.

Merlin's face fell drastically. 'Not quite. The meeting this afternoon – Arthur means to meet Morgana and Mordred on the plain at Camlann.'

'Camlann!' I said.

'It's a good strategic battlefield, apparently, or something,' Merlin said dismissively. 'But still... I can hardly persuade him to fight somewhere else. I can only hope that if I get my magic back I will be able to stop –' And his words dried up, and the smile that had so raised my spirits did not even flicker on his face for the remainder of the evening.


	32. Trumpets Sound and Banners Fly

The day of departure was set, and this day rose with the bleakest of skies: it would not rain that day, but nor would the Sun show her face, and we would go to Camlann with fear and terror yet in our hearts. The army began to muster outside the citadel, for all was prepared; we would ride before nightfall, and camp, and then the following day would bring battle, and with it, the end. Such was the plan; it seemed a little terrifying for all to be so organised and definite. Was it better to go to war knowing of the dangers, or to be taken by surprise? I could hardly tell. I merely made sure my blade was keen and my eye sharp, and clasped into my bundle a sheet of chain mail that I had managed to smuggle, and also a dented helmet that had been thrown out but which I thought suitable for use should I need to fight. I did not tell Gaius or Merlin that I had these with me: I just packed them into a small cloth bag and hung them from the horse that I was to ride with Gaius.

Therefore all three of us who resided in the physician's quarters were ready by noon, and we sat down to lunch without really speaking to each other, because there were few words that needed to be said. All of this had been planned for so long, yet it seemed like but minutes had gone by since first Morgana had made her terrible declaration of war. It felt almost unreal.

Gaius stood at the end of the meal, and rinsed and dried our plates that we might take them with us; and then Merlin stood and said that he had better set off.

'Are you going now to the Crystal Cave?' I asked.

'I mean to be at Camlann by tomorrow, and so I must go as soon as I can,' he replied.

'But does the King not require you this afternoon?'

Here Merlin bowed his head a little. 'I have told him already that I am not going to Camlann... it is not true, of course, but it is what he must believe, lest he try to follow me.'

'What does he think?' I asked in surprise, for I knew that the King would not look upon this kindly.

'He believes me to be a coward,' Merlin said frankly.

'That you most definitely are not,' Gaius said then, warmly, his hand going to Merlin's.

'I wish Arthur could know the truth,' Merlin muttered.

I narrowed my eyes a little. 'Perhaps he would accept you, now, after all that you have done for him. You are friends. Would it really make any difference if he knew who you were?'

'Yes,' he cried. 'Yes, it would. He still doesn't accept magic; why should he accept me, if he knew me to possess it? He is afraid of magic, and fear drives people to the most insane limits. We are friends, I know, as far as a master and a servant can be friends –'

'_Far_ more than that, Merlin,' I said at once.

Merlin ignored me, not wishing to broach that particular topic. 'But Arthur and Uther have before now condemned friends and allies. Why would I be the exception?'

We had to leave it at that, because we had no answer, and besides, the bell was tolling to muster the forces and those who would be going with them.

Merlin had resolved to slip quietly out of the north gate whilst everyone was occupied at the western bar*, and he would go with Gwaine, who would be his strength and defence, and who was furthermore a very good friend to my brother. Therefore we then had to part; I clutched him in my arms, and found tears slipping down my cheeks; I heard him sniff, and realised that he too was crying.

'Fight only if you truly need to, Ganieda,' he murmured. 'You will be more than useful if you remain in the infirmary tent to help Gaius.'

'I know,' I replied.

'Good luck,' he said then, and we parted reluctantly from this embrace that had made my heart and head whirl with emotions and thoughts.

'Good luck to you, my dear brother...'

Merlin laughed very shakily. 'We part as though we will never see each other again. I mean to arrive at the field long before the battle starts – this evening or tonight. Then I shall enter the battle, and we shall win a certain victory.'

I did not comment on this lack of modesty, for I knew that Merlin was our last, indeed only, hope. 'I shall see you tonight, then.'

'Yes...'

And he turned to Gaius, and they said their goodbyes in a similarly heartfelt fashion – if not more, for Merlin was closer to the old physician than he was to anyone else, and I knew and respected this. Balinor might have sired him, but Gaius was his father.

'See you this evening,' we both called as Merlin went from the room with his pack swinging on his shoulder; and we heard his footsteps die down as he disappeared down the corridor.

'Oh, I hope he succeeds,' I murmured.

'Quite...' said Gaius. Then: 'He will. I know he will. He will;' but I knew that this repetition was more to reassure himself than to convince me.

* * *

Gaius and I clambered onto the horse that we would ride with some difficulty, for it was a dray-horse rather than a war-horse and was not used to being ridden; but it was a good strong horse, and very calm. About us were strung a good deal of those things that Gaius wished to bring with him, and in a cart behind us was the rest of the equipment that would be used in the infirmary.

The army was gathering; around us, knights swung onto their own horses, and they were clad in red and gold, as were their steeds; above us there fluttered a huge banner, and the insignia of Camelot flew high above us, and the golden dragon served as a glittering Sun to replace that which had decided to be absent. There was loud chatter, and orders were given, and pages and squires ran about the place to bring items to their masters, or to check saddles, or to pack saddle-bags.

The King had not yet emerged from the castle: he still conversed with those closest to him about the coming battle, and strategy, and whatever else still weighed on his mind: indeed these conversations would never be finished, for there were countless possibilities for what would happen that day. Indeed, the King had not accounted for what would likely happen: Merlin's appearance and use of magic to save his master and the army. This thought, of Merlin as our glowing saviour, was the only one that was keeping me sane.

Just then I heard a voice at my side, or rather below me, calling my name, and looked to the ground to see Juliana there, staring up at me with something akin to disbelief flashing across her face.

'So you are truly going,' said she.

'But of course,' I replied, allowing myself just a hint of disdain.

'Come down, that I might embrace you,' she said plaintively, and I obeyed, and she threw her arms around me. 'Oh, Ganieda – my friend. I am sorry we have quarrelled about this battle. I am afraid I shall not go back on my word, but – if you wish to go, I shall not stop you.'

'I do not believe you could,' I said, sounding more serious than I meant to.

'Keep safe...' she said, and let me go at last. 'Do not fight. I do not wish to –'

And unable to restrain her emotions, she broke into tears, and saying a hurried goodbye to me she ran back into the city, perhaps so I did not have to see her crying, perhaps because she could not bear to face me. A part of me wanted to follow her, to stay in Camelot with her, but that would go against my honour and my sense of duty. I had to go.

'Goodbye, Juliana!' I cried after her, but she had gone from view.

* * *

A minute later there came the sound of trumpets, and the army parted and divided into neat factions as the King rode betwixt us, going to the head that he might lead us. Behind him rode his most faithful knights, and behind them there rode a standard-bearer, carrying our biggest and most glorious banner. Cheers tore through the ranks, and I was carried away by them, and found my tongue, which had been tied by the fear I felt, loosened to let out a cry of "God save the King!". And I was delighted when this shout was echoed by the rest of the army.

The King at the head smiled, and stood in his stirrups, and faced us all. 'My people, knights, citizens, all who are coming to help – thank you. We ride for Camlann; we will fight there two sorcerers and their barbarian army. But Camelot is stronger and mightier and far more good and just than any of them, and it is the light that shines from our hearts that will win us this day. We are not the wrongdoers; that will be their downfall. We ride for Camlann and victory!'

And the shout that followed this must surely have lifted the roofs off the houses behind us, for those in Camelot who could hear this oration joined the cheer.

With that, he sat down with a bump, turned round to face our destination, and set off at a gallop, and a magnificent red and gold river followed him eagerly down the hill.

* * *

* "Bar" being here a word for "gatehouse", a word that is in common use in York, e.g. Micklegate Bar.


	33. Camlann

When first I looked upon the desolate plain of Camlann I wondered how any measure of optimism could have resided in the King as he thought on the battle that was to come. It was a dark and empty place, a barren valley betwixt two sheer walls of grey rock, and it was such that little vegetation grew there, and the ground was at its edges scattered with stones, in the middle cleared of all but small and determined mosses.

'We will camp here,' the King called out, and the army stopped in that place, and began to set up the many tents that we had carted with us. Gaius and I had a big tent that would double as the infirmary; once we had put it up we lit a fire within and cooked a meal, though neither of us felt remotely hungry.

'Do you think Merlin has succeeded?' I murmured at last, sipping disinterestedly at the soup that Gaius had set before me.

'I hope so,' said Gaius. He tried to smile, but I could tell that his worry equalled mine, for Merlin had determined to return by this evening, and had not yet shown his face.

We said nothing more on the matter. There was nothing more to say. Gaius cleared up the bowls, which still contained remnants that we could not at that time stomach, and went to consult with the King, leaving me alone in the wide tent, cross-legged on the cold floor and unwilling to move, hardly daring to believe that I could be in this place, this plain that Merlin believed to play such a great and terrible role in the future he had seen. Camlann. We were at Camlann, and there would be battle the following day, and we would fight against the barbarian army under the command of Morgana and Mordred –

Mordred. We would fight against Mordred. For the first time since his betrayal, I found myself thinking on him, and in my mind there appeared an image: that of him dressed in battle gear, and fighting fiercely and skilfully, now against one of our citizen soldiers, whom he in my vision cut down easily, now against one of the Knights of the Round Table – now against Sir Percival, one of the best knights, and furthermore a man who had been a friend to Mordred: they had liked and respected each other.

And I had to retreat from this dream, or more nightmare, that I had created, lest my imagination show me something terrible. When I had emerged, and saw around me once again the walls of the tent and the flickering fireplace, I wondered what terrible thing it was I had feared. The death of Sir Percival, one of the King's most valiant knights? – perhaps. I did not like to think on the losses that we would suffer that day – but no! I hardly knew Sir Percival, and though his death would be a tragedy, it had not been that which had made me shudder so, which had forced me from the depths of my inner being.

No, it had been the death of Mordred that had so terrified me.

I had seen him as a shadowy figure, hidden beneath the bleak metal visor of a helmet, a representation of evil more than a true person; yet as I thought, and I could not halt my thoughts, there came to me an image of Mordred as I had seen him, as I had loved him, and it was strange and beautiful, as if I had forgotten what he looked like and now beheld him as more marvellous than I remembered.

Mordred... I had loved a man named Mordred, and a man named Mordred would be our opponent in the coming battle. A man named Mordred had been loyal to Camelot; a man named Mordred had betrayed the King. I could scarcely believe that all of these Mordreds were one and the same man: what had become of him?

My mind decided then that I should descend into stranger territory, and so my thoughts led to despair, for I had not lost Mordred to Morgana, but rather I had seen him die, I had seen the passing of a man I had loved. Had I grieved for him, then? – No. I had left him, I had walked away, I had tried not to think on him until now.

'Mordred,' I murmured involuntarily, and that word, snatched by a breeze that rushed beneath the tent-flap, caught me by the heart-strings, and left me in racking sobs.

* * *

When Gaius returned he found me on my bed-roll, huddled in my cloak and in a state of despair that he could not calm. For so long I had retained my composure; for so long I had managed to forget Mordred, yet now I was lost in mourning for a good man, my dear Mordred, the man I had meant to marry, the man with whom I had meant to share my life.

And for me, a simple farmer's daughter, destined to do nothing but plough and harvest for all of my life, such a future had not been a fact of life, as it was for so many, but a dream come true. I had at last found an aim to my life, and I had been happy. Could I be happy now, with no hope of finding such fortune again? I doubted it, and it was that that occupied me as I wept into the coarse cloth of my bed-roll.

I believe that that evening my reason escaped me for a while. With the passing (or so it felt to me) of Mordred, and the fact that Merlin had not returned from what had been, in truth, a dangerous mission, and the prospect of a battle that we would lose if not for Merlin and more than a drop of luck, I was driven mad by terror and sadness and the horrid empty feeling that comes when one has lost one's very hope.

* * *

I must have fallen asleep, or else fainted, during this time, because when I came to it was true night, and Gaius was sitting beside me, stroking my hair in sympathy, and speaking under his breath – kind words, perhaps, or a reassurance. He smiled when he saw that I was awake and sensible, and he said that the army had settled down for the night, and that it would be good for me if I went back to sleep. He went to his bed-roll, and wrapped himself in a blanket, and was soon snoring; I had huddled back within the folds of my cloak, but I could not go back to sleep, not now.

The tent was not quite dark, for still there was a lamp lit somewhere outside for the patrols that went quietly past; shadows danced across the fabric, and I followed them, and identified some as those of men, but I could not quite determine what cast certain others. The thought of unknown beings terrified me enough to keep me awake; and I tried to hide myself under my cloak, so that I did not have to see those shapes that eluded all reason, but such is the curiosity that comes with fear that I found myself compelled to stay awake and squint at them and try to rationalise them.

I lost myself in this task and in random thoughts that came and went with the flickering of the shadows; we descended into deep night, and still I had not slept, or at the least, I was vaguely conscious of all that had occurred since I had awoken the previous evening. Then, unexpectedly, I heard a whispering, and I wondered for a moment if it was one of the guards, when I realised that it was coming from somewhere near my bed-roll.

I turned, and saw that a jug had been knocked to the floor, in such a way that it had spilt its water into a crevice in a rock. This pool seemed to glimmer, and I sensed the heady taste of magic in the air; my fingers began to tingle – and then a bolt of light coursed across the water, and there was Merlin's face staring up at me.

'Merlin!' I said, in a whisper so that I did not wake Gaius.

'Ganieda,' he replied, grinning bravely. 'I've made it. The Crystal Cave. I've got my magic back.'

'Oh!' I cried. 'Oh! Then we are saved!'

He grimaced. 'Goodness. I don't know. I still need to come to the battle. Listen – Morgana s planning an ambush; I've told Arthur –'

'What?'

'In a dream. I hope he remembers it. He might dismiss it, but I know him. He won't want to risk not listening to me. Stuff always goes wrong when he doesn't listen to me.' He chuckled a little, but he stopped himself short, and furrowed his brow. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing,' I said quickly.

'You've been crying,' he murmured.

'No, I am merely tired,' I said, and yawned on purpose, as if to try and prove it. I knew that Merlin would not believe me, but I also knew that he would not pursue the matter.

'You're still not planning on fighting, are you?' he asked then.

'It would be unfair if I didn't.'

'Why?'

'We will need all the strength we can get...'

'You will have more than you will ever need, if I have anything to do with it,' said Merlin.

'We do not know when you will arrive, nor when the battle will begin,' I countered. 'I believe there will have to be fighting. I know full well that if Gaius could fight, he would come to. I can wield a sword, Merlin. I should help.'

'I forbid you.'

'You cannot control my actions.'

'You can wait at the camp, and fight if it is attacked.'

'It won't be attacked.'

Merlin closed his eyes for a moment, and sighed. 'Look, Ganieda – I know you. I know by this you won't go back on your word. Fight if you must, but keep safe, won't you?'

'As safe as is possible in battle,' I replied.

'Truly, Ganieda, do not –'

'Die?' I smiled shakily. 'I'll try not to.'

'Good luck, Ganieda.'

'You're the one who needs luck,' I replied. 'Oh! but I am glad you have your magic back. What happened in the Cave?'

He swallowed. 'I was – no, that does not matter. I fell unconscious, and when I came to there was a man standing over me; and when my vision had cleared I saw that he was Balinor.'

Something flashed betwixt our eyes; I let out a sharp gasp. 'Our father...'

'He was but a spirit, conjured by the magic in the Cave,' Merlin said, 'but...' His smile then was nostalgic, perhaps sad, but tinted by the joy that still resided within him at seeing our father once again.

'I wish I had been there,' I murmured.

'I wish you were here,' Merlin replied. His eyes began to sparkle with tears he tried unsuccessfully to hide. 'I shall come to your tent first, if the battle has not begun when I get there. Look – I must go, if I am to reach Camlann before dawn.'

'Good luck,' I said.

'Good luck,' he repeated.

And I saw him mutter something, and his face disappeared even before he had achieved his spell. I looked up from the puddle, and found that I too was in tears, and that for some reason or another I was not greatly reassured by Merlin's appearance or speech.


	34. A Room Without A View

I must have slept for some short while, because when I awoke I found it to be nearly dawn, and already there was clanging outside the tent announcing the last preparations before all descended into chaos. Gaius was up, and making breakfast over the fire; he greeted me quietly as I sat up, and I could see that he shared my anxiety.

It took a moment for me to recall the visitation of the night, but when the memory came to me I told of what had happened in short fragments, and Gaius nodded, much relieved by this confirmation that Merlin was safe and on his way. We ate breakfast then in silence.

Then unexpectedly there came shouting from outside, and we jumped up; then I remembered what Merlin had said, and told Gaius that he had suspected a surprise attack, an ambush perhaps, and that the army would need to set out sooner than they had thought. A large proportion of the forces therefore had gone to the place where Morgana had sent her own troops, and the rest were ready to fight, and began to draw attention back from the camp, so that we would not ourselves be attacked, or that at least was the intention.

We did not know quite what was going on outside until the King paid us an unexpected visit: he drew back the tent-flap and poked his head in, not even raising his visor, just to tell us what we had already guessed for the most part: that a certain amount of men had headed for a pass some distance south of the camp, and that he meant to meet the remainder of the army northwards, on the full plain.

'We are then surrounded,' I said, when the King had gone.

'Not necessarily,' Gaius replied, 'though it is likely.'

'How did Morgana distribute her forces in such a way, without alerting ours to their presence?' I cried.

'She has magic on her side,' said Gaius simply, lowering his head.

'Oh, Merlin, _do_ hurry,' I murmured, and found my face involuntarily turning to the heavens; though where I might have hoped to see Paradise, I saw merely the rugged roof of the tent, and beyond it I knew the sky to be still dark and scattered with clouds. And again I whispered his name, as if that might summon him: '_Merlin_.'

But of course he did not appear, and as if that was the last straw I sat down and began to sob.

* * *

The battle had not yet begun when day broke the horizon, though I knew that both sides must have thought it foolish to fight in the dark, and therefore had saved their energies for when they could face each other truly. I had hoped that there might be parley, as there sometimes was in battles, between the commanders; but with the army divided as it was, and with Morgana's cowardly ambush to prepare for, there was no hope of reasoning.

There was silence, a terrible silence; and then, suddenly, we were roused by a short, sharp blast on a horn. I knew not whose breath had winded it, nor from whose side it had been blown, indeed, but I knew that it could mean only one thing: battle.

We of course could see nothing of the combat from the tent, but the noises that reached us were enough to depict a terrible scene. First came a whistling volley of arrows, but that did not last long, for Morgana, it seemed, was very impatient, and had few archers with which to match ours. She wished there to be direct fighting, man to man, furious, feverish, and she got her wish.

The cavalry then charged, and though we were quite far from the field of combat we could hear the pounding hooves as if they galloped right outside our tent: there was a battle cry that was echoed by the whole army, it seemed, and returning from the opponents there came some vicious shout, a chaotic call that tumbled across the plain.

Then our soldiers were upon them, and we heard the true sound of battle, and with it mingled those shouts and sword-blows from the pass away southwards, so that battle surrounded us, and we felt trapped. I did not know how many had remained at the camp: me, Gaius, a handful of squires, and a certain number of fighters – that was all.

My mind did not quite process what was going on around me, for I tried to dull myself to the clash of swords, the yells, the screams – it is a terrible thing to hear men scream, for such a sound is produced only by pure terror, or a final, pain-racked breath. I tried to block my ears, but it still reached me. I could but pace up and down, restless, afraid, horrified; and above the tumult I attempted a song, the song of war that Juliana had taught me, so long ago, it seemed now – yet it seemed to pale in insignificance, it did not seem suited to this mortal combat, this final battle that would be remembered as great and devastating, that no words could describe, that even music struggled to portray.

It was like a rushing in my ears, a ringing that would not leave me. My mind whirled with the pictures that my imagination presented: I saw men fall, I saw blood spilt onto the dark ground, I saw friends perish at the hand of some hideous creature swathed in black. I knew that the fighting would be nothing short of barbaric. It was not what the men of Camelot were used to. Their chivalry would that day abandon them, for this was ruthless war, this was chaos.

Those injured began to pile into the tent in legions; we could do nothing for some, little for others; we were overwhelmed by the numbers; we wondered if we should give up now. If the power to surrender had rested in the hands of me and Gaius – the battle would have ended long before it had finished.

'There are too many,' I called to Gaius.

'We must help as many as we can,' the old physician replied grimly, and I saw that he was stoic and phlegmatic as he went from soldier to soldier, from injury to injury, and wondered how it was that he could be so remarkably calm.

Then I found that I could dull my mind to what went on around me, and knew how. There was so much to take in that it seemed my mind refused to let me understand, merely see, and help. Perhaps it was chaos. I did not know, I knew nothing of the battle save that I needed to aid its remnants, I had to ignore those facts that threatened to drive me mad.


	35. Finale

Our infirmary was filled with people, and we, though out of our depth, were trying our very best to help them all, and the battle was but half an hour old, when there came a standard-bearer running into the tent, and his face was panicked and his eyes wide.

He did not seek out any man in particular, merely stood by the tent-flap and proclaimed into the silence that met his entrance: 'My comrades – the enemy heads for the camp.'

And with that, he flung himself outside again, sliding his sword from his scabbard as he did so.

There was at once tumultuous chatter, and a good deal of men whose injuries were slight stood then, and drew their weapons, and yelled that they would go and defend the camp, for it contained innocent souls who should not be mixed up in this battle. And Gaius and I exchanged glances, and I knew that I at least pondered whether I was indeed an innocent soul who should not fight. But I was brushed aside by the rush of men, those slightly wounded and even some with more serious injuries whom we could not stop, and watched in something akin to horror their exodus, this mad dash that we deemed nothing short of a suicide mission.

When they had gone, the silence was profound, and the tent seemed empty, though there were within it still far too many men.

'They will be killed where they stand,' I murmured. 'Those men whose sword-arms are injured – those men who are limping – they are no match for –'

And what then went unsaid was far more powerful than any words that I could have voiced at that moment.

'I believe we are overwhelmed,' I said then, quietly to Gaius so as not to panic our charges. 'I believe Merlin has not come, and we are overwhelmed. Gaius, we are going to lose!'

'Camelot will not lose,' said Gaius, a little stubbornly.

'Victory is not a sacred right for the good side,' I said, and, under my breath, let out an 'Alas!' that resounded with hopelessness and fright. 'There must be something –'

And here my eyes alighted on the mail-shirt and helmet and sword that I had brought with me; and Gaius, following my gaze, saw for the first time both my possessions and my intentions.

'You can't fight!' he cried, as I escaped his clutches and ran to where I had set down the armour.

'Because I am a girl?' I could not help but reply, as I had so many times before; and though I knew that was far from Gaius's reasoning, I ignored the look on his face, the thoughts that flung themselves outside of his brain. 'Camelot needs me, Gaius.'

'Ganieda,' he said.

I slid the mail-shirt over my head. 'Do not try to stop me.'

'Ganieda,' he said again. 'Ganieda, this is madness.'

'Then perhaps I have gone mad,' I replied, tying a coif about my neck and putting on my helmet.

'I will not let you go.'

'It is my duty to Camelot,' I said, my voice revealing none of my innermost thoughts.

'Ganieda!' he said again, but I could scarcely hear him through the metal of the helmet, and chose not to look at him. Did he know what I was thinking? – doubtless he did. Doubtless he knew my heartache, my resignation, my sense of loss that had overcome me already – I had lost Mordred, I felt as if I had lost Merlin, and it seemed to me that if nothing was done then I would also lose Camelot. The battle was not going to our favour. I could not stand here and do nothing, not when I was a perfectly capable fighter.

'Ganieda...'

This final repetition of my name, a small and piteous repetition, as if it came from some cornered creature, made me shudder, but I had resolved long ago to do this, and Gaius's pleas would not stop me. It did not occur to me that I was about to do a heartless thing. I was overtaken by pride, by loyalty, by my so-called duty to Camelot, and I would go despite everything.

'Goodbye, Gaius.'

I offered him a gloved hand, which he shook; he tried to restrain it in his grasp, but I retreated, being stronger than him, and did not look into those kindly eyes that had once sparkled with courage, with love, with gentleness, and which I knew now to be filled with tears and the dullness that comes with such hopelessness as his then. I did not want to go to war with that face imprinted on my mind. I wanted to remember the happy Gaius, I wanted to go out with confidence and with a smile upon my face, my memories of my friends my advantage over the enemy, for their images alone would give me strength.

'Goodbye, Ganieda,' he perhaps said, but I did not hear him, for I swung away from him, out of the tent and onto the field, and I looked to the sky then, the sky I had not seen that day, and thought I saw the clouds begin to part. And with that sight lightening my heart, I lifted my sword and ran to join the battle.

* * *

They had come close, within fathoms of the camp, and were held back merely by an uncertain wall of infirm soldiers, who could but equal their might, and could not push them backwards. I knew that one side had to fail, and that fortune did not smile upon ours. A couple of other men had followed me from the tent, men I might have held back if I had been thinking straight and if I myself had not left, for their wounds made them struggle desperately. Some could not even run.

We outnumbered the enemy, I could tell in a glance, but numbers here meant nothing. A party of injured men and a girl – what good could we do?

I shook off all pessimistic thoughts, and resolved that the best I could do was to find out.

And so I joined them, running carelessly into battle with the pace of a horse unfettered.

I can hardly say in words what it is like to fight, because nobody has invented words to describe such emotions and sensations, perhaps to protect mankind from the horrors, perhaps because they do not wish to recall them. I stabbed a man without truly realising what I had done until he doubled over in pain, and as my blade retreated I saw that it was dark with blood; the man's yells made me wish to cover my ears; and belatedly I felt the horrid sensation of metal sliding through flesh. And I had not imagined that such a simple act could produce such a stench; a wave of nausea swept through me, and I might have vomited had I had chance, for before I could do anything, out of choice or otherwise, another man came at me, and I parried his furious blow just in time, for had I been but seconds late my head would have been split. My blow propelled him back and into the path of another of our men; but I was allowed no time even to recover my breath, because then there came another enemy – how many of them were there? I could scarcely see anything through my visor, but I determined from the sounds that there were men joining the mêlée from the main battle. The attack on the camp, I realised, would more than inconvenience us – it would disarm us, and it would also allow the two factions of the enemy army to be joined, so that they were surrounding the men of Camelot.

In terms of strategy, at least, they had defeated us. All we had now were magic and luck, and seeing as the former had not reached us, and the latter appeared not to favour us –

We were going to lose. This single, terrible thought for a moment dominated me – but in battle a moment is significant, and though I had lost concentration for but half a second, that half-second might as well have been centuries.

Then, suddenly, even before I returned to myself, I felt something enter me, something that had lifted the mail-tunic as if it was paper and gone full into me – a sword. A sword-blade. I had been stabbed – and yet it seemed as if I was dreaming, as if I floated above reality –

I looked up. Looked into my killer's face.

It was Mordred.

He saw that he had defeated me, and as I fell to my knees he pulled the sword away and made to turn, unthinkingly, towards some other opponent – but before he could do so I, with the last vestige of strength that resided within me, reached up and tore off my helmet.

'Mordred,' I gasped out.

He blinked. He saw whom his blade had struck. He paled, and nearly fell; his visage, once blackened by hatred, now gaped in horror, in regret, and for a moment I saw the old Mordred –

'Ganieda,' he whispered hoarsely, almost silently.

Did he still feel anything for me? and did I for him? I could have killed him then – I had a chance, my final act – my final act could have been to save Arthur from his fate, to kill Mordred –

I couldn't do it.

I loved him...

But then his face faded from my sight; I felt nothing still, but the noises of battle seemed to dissipate, and my surroundings blurred. My whole self screamed at me not to give in to the ever-nearing darkness; but I saw in it final and eternal peace, and I knew as soon as the pain wracked me that I wanted nothing more than to surrender to death's embrace.

And I closed my eyes, and saw a pinprick of light; and there was a hand waving to me, beckoning. I stretched out my arm; I willed myself to be pulled from the battle, from the pain – God, the pain!

If this was death, it was much more terrible than I could ever have imagined. I kept my arm ever waving towards the figure, willing, wanting, waiting –

And then he was there before me; I looked up into his face, and saw blue eyes – Merlin's eyes – in a ragged face that beamed at me, a face I knew and could not place – but no, I knew him, though I had not seen him – he must be Balinor.

'Father...' I whispered.

He just smiled and took my hand.

* * *

_finis_

* * *

**It seems Ganieda's story is here ended, here at Camlann where also a King fell; it's been a long and unsteady journey to get here, and I cannot thank enough those who have been there for the ride. Thanks especially to LadyMorganaPendragon and andbreathe, whose support has been so invaluable; thank you to all of my readers, indeed, and I do hope you have enjoyed this chapter in the history of Camelot that began with _Her Insatiable Thirst _ and continued with this almost novel-length story.**

**The tale is not, however, over. Soon to appear is the third and final part of my take on series five (and beyond) of _Merlin_; it will be called _After Camlann_, and follow Merlin as he returns to a Camelot that will never be the same again.**


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